A Man for All Seasons
by Master's Duchess
Summary: Chelsea Daniels was an ordinary MI-5 sleeper agent until an accident landed her in the hospital. She thought she would never work again... until the mysterious Mycroft Holmes hired her to spy on his brother, the devious Sherrinford Holmes. Chelsea Daniels was an ordinary MI-5 agent until the day Mycroft named her Anthea and she became his in every way. Rating has gone up.
1. Up a Creek With No Canoe

**A/N: Hi everyone! I decided to write a Sherlock story about Mycroft and Anthea because she is an absolutely fascinating character. The story and chapter titles are based off the song "Man for All Seasons" by Robbie Williams because the the song always reminds me of Mycroft. **

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><p>"<em>Phoenix to Willow, how are things on the ground?" Chelsea whispered into the small microphone in her jacket collar as she crouched behind a box of powdered drugs.<em>

_"__Willow to Phoenix," the woman responded, "five minuted until touchdown. Hold on until then."_

_Chelsea closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, praying to any and all deities to help her not die before reinforcements arrived. She had been a part of an undercover MI-5 operation for the past two years, and all of her work culminated in the events of tonight. Nothing could go wrong; everything must be perfect._

_Tucking her hair behind her ears, Chelsea stood up and approached the group of men once more. The tallest one smirked at her return and pulled her to his side with a muscular arm. "What took you so long, Darcie?" he asked gruffly._

_Chelsea grinned back at him and stood on her toes to kiss him on his rough cheek. "Sorry, baby," she cooed, "I thought one of my rings fell off back there when we were walking in. I just wanted to check."_

_Her boyfriend nodded and turned back to the group. "Right, so the pick-up will be arriving in the next ten minutes or so. Give them exactly what we agreed upon, no more, no less. If they do not fork over the money, you let me know immediately and I will personally make sure they come through."_

_Chelsea watched him advise his grunts with an admiring expression, but inside, she was counting down the seconds until her team would bust in and break the smuggling ring up for good. The ring, led by Duncan Price, her boyfriend, was responsible for the deaths of forty-some homeless persons, and many more others who were unknown, in the past year. _

_"__Yeah?" one of the grunts challenged, "And how do you plan on doing that, Price? You traded our guns the last time."_

_Chelsea stepped away from Duncan, feeling him place a hand on the pocket that held his knife. Duncan grabbed her arm to prevent her from moving. "Darcie, why don't you tell him how I plan on making sure everyone cooperates?"_

_"__Sure baby," she swallowed down the nervousness bubbling up in her throat, knowing everything was about to go to hell in a hand basket in a few minutes, "do you see over there?" she asked, gesturing towards a large pile of crates in the corner of the room, "Those are extra-flammable incendiary devices. One shot, and boom!"_

_Chelsea hoped her team had heard her warning; this was a new addition they weren't able to prepare for._

_The men calmed, realizing one misstep could cost them their lives and the drugs. "Any questions?" Duncan asked, staring each man down. Satisfied with their submissive reactions, Duncan smirked. "Good… Let's go."_

_The men began moving the boxes toward the door, preparing for the trade-off. Chelsea slipped into the shadows, hoping she would go unnoticed. As she ducked behind a tall shelf, she heard the crushing sound of glass shattering from above. Instinctively, she crouched down and put her hands over her head._

_All around her, men were shouting at each other as they struggled for control of the guns and drugs. "Willow to Phoenix," the woman called through the hidden earpiece, "Phoenix, remain in current position."_

_Chelsea pressed herself closer to the shelves. While she was an agent, she was not a tactical agent; she was what they called a sleeper agent. Sleeper agents were placed into the field in a domestic capacity, only to be called upon when the time was needed, usually years down the line. _

_She had wanted to become a tactical agent, but her parents were high up in the government and prevented her advancement past her current position._

_Perhaps it was for the better, she thought as she cowered, hearing the sound of footsteps approaching her. _

_She looked up into the bloodied face of Duncan._

_"__Phoenix to Willow," she cried into her microphone, "I need back up!" She wasn't trained to disarm a man twice her size._

_Duncan raised the gun in her direction. "I always thought you were loyal, Darcie," he growled, tightening his grip on the fun, "I guess I was just wrong about who exactly you were loyal to."_

_Chelsea stood slowly, raising her hands in front of her to show she was unarmed. "Please, Duncan," she whimpered, "I love you."_

_While she was certainly lying about that, she wasn't lying about how terrified she was. She was trembling almost uncontrollably, asking herself where her backup was._

_Duncan sneered at her, "And I love me too much to be taken down alone," he replied cryptically._

_Before Chelsea could jump out to grab the gun from his hand, he tilted it above her head and fired into the box on the shelf above. Chelsea spun around to read the contents of the box before everything went black._

_"__Caution! Extremely flammable incendiary inside."_


	2. You Can't Get Your Life Back

**A/N: I don't own Sherlock. The previous chapter was short, so I decided to put another short chapter up tonight. The following chapters won't be this short, but I was just so excited about the story that I wanted to post a little bit of it tonight.**

"Your drink, _Mister_ Holmes," she teased in a lilting tone, her lips smirking as she leaned over her boss's shoulder to place the drink on the heavy table he was sitting at.

Mycroft Holmes cleared his throat. "Yes, thank you, Miss Daniels," he replied gruffly with a slightly strained voice, "that will be all."

Chelsea moved around the table to stand opposite him, demanding his attention once more. He really should have been focusing on the current political scandal that had popped up in Morocco overnight, but she had other plans for him.

"I want to go back into the field," Chelsea demanded resolutely, placing a hand on her hip for emphasis… or distraction— whichever one got her what she wanted.

Mycroft's eyebrows raised. "Oh?" he challenged, "and why should I let you go against your father's express wishes. He was explicit about not wanting you in the field again."

Chelsea rolled her eyes and flicked her hair over her shoulder, drawing attention to her soft neck and her exposed collarbone; she thought she observed Mycroft's gaze shift from her eyes for the briefest of seconds. "I was _so _close to destroying Duncan Price's drug ring."

"Ah, yes, well that was before he went and blew himself up, and yourself, in the process," Mycroft drawled, swirling the amber liquid around in the crystal glass.

"I'm the best sleeper agent this country has seen in the past twenty years, and you know it."

"Your father would create _havoc_ for my people in the Ministry of Defense," he explained, staring at the glass before taking a long drink. "I do _not_ want to have to deal with his petty drama, especially this month."

Sighing, Chelsea crossed the room to stand next to her boss once more. He looked up at her. "Please, Mycroft," she implored him, "I've been with you for five years and it's been six years since the accident. I haven't asked you for anything have I?"

"No, you haven't," he conceded begrudgingly, pushing his leather chair from the table so he could face his assistant.

"Then please, just one mission, I don't care how small it is," Chelsea said, more quietly this time, hoping he would give in to her. In the past year, Chelsea had noticed his behavior towards her was more friendly, if that was possible— this was Mycroft Holmes. He didn't exactly do friendly.

Mycroft stared at her silently, thinking it over. After a long pause, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Don't make me regret this, Chelsea."

Chelsea's face lit up with excitement as she threw her arms around Mycroft's shoulders, pulling him into an unwilling embrace. "Thank you, Mycroft," she whispered in his ear, making his shoulders stiffen as he gently pushed her away.

She smirked as he got off the chair, turning away from her to hide his face; she bet he didn't know that the back of his neck reddened as well.

Mycroft turned back around to her and pointed a finger in her direction. "Do not inform your father or mother under any circumstances."

Chelsea nodded. "Understood."

"Also," he added, walking over to the door to pick up his navy blue umbrella from the overly-ornate umbrella stand by the door, "do not think that I am pleased about having to reassign my best assistant."

Chelsea moved his side, his papers and laptop in her arms. "I will still work for you, Mycroft," she reminded him, amused.

"Yes… but the prospect of someone else making me coffee is just _ghastly_," he complained, much like a child would, making Chelsea laugh at his behavior as they exited the office for the night.


	3. From Sun up 'Til the Moon's on His Back

**A/n: I don't own Sherlock.**

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><p><em><strong>From sun up 'til the moon's on his back<strong>_

"Peter Nicholas Wells, if you are not parked in front of Mister Holmes's house in the next five minutes, I will personally make you regret ever thinking it acceptable to go out for drinks on a work night for the rest of your employment."

Peter's eyes widened as he averted his gaze from the livid petite woman in the car's rearview mirror to the road ahead. The sun hadn't rose yet, casting the land around them in darkness.

"Honestly," Chelsea sighed exasperatedly, "you know he abhors tardiness. Now he's going to be an absolute terror for the rest of the day."

The car turned into a private gated driveway and careened down the winding path through dense trees on either side. "If anyone could cheer him up, it'd be you, Miss Daniels."

Chelsea smiled. "Yeah, it is me, isn't it?" she chuckled, conceding to the chauffeur. "Tell me, what color will it be today?"

The car made a wide turn and they saw a large manor through the windshield approaching. Peter smirked conspiratorially at their daily game. "Yellow."

Chelsea's eyebrows raised. "That's a bold guess, Peter."

The car slowed as Peter turned in his seat to look back at her. "Come out with it then, what's your guess?"

"It's either going to be the navy with polka dots or the navy one with umbrellas," Chelsea guessed, tapping an index finger against her pouting lips in concentration.

After a short moment, the car pulled in front of the manor. Chelsea pulled her Blackberry out of her purse and sent a message to her boss, letting them know his ride had arrived.

"Three minutes to spare, well done," Chelsea commended Peter, smiling brightly at him.

The manor's front door swung open with grandiose theatricality, revealing a rather tired-looking Mycroft Holmes. Peter and Chelsea watched with amusement as Mycroft shut the door gingerly behind him before consulting his briefcase to make sure everything was in order and nothing was forgotten. Mycroft then patted his coat pockets, trouser pockets, and picked up his umbrella, making sure it was securely fastened closed.

"Now we shall see which of us is the winner of the day," Peter whispered excitedly as Mycroft began slowly descending the marble stairs towards the car. The car's occupants strained their eyes as they tried to make out which tie it was today.

"Yes!" Chelsea exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air with less propriety than she should probably have. "Navy tie with white umbrellas on it!"

Peter laughed heartily. "How do you do it? Every_ single _day!"

Before Mycroft was too close to the car, Chelsea high- fived Peter. "I can predict that man's clothing choices better than a weatherman can predict icy conditions after snowfall."

"Speaking of ice," Peter muttered cheerfully as Mycroft opened the car door and slid onto the seat next to Chelsea.

Chelsea took the leather briefcase from him and traded it for a red coffee travel mug full of hot coffee she had brewed specially for him in the particular way he liked, as she did every morning for the past five years.

"How are you today, sir?" Peter inquired, slipping into more professional capacity now that his boss was in the car. He turned the car back on and drove away from the manor towards the city.

Mycroft sighed melodramatically and took a long drink of coffee. "It would seem that the _darling_ daughter of one of the most prominent MPs has decided to elope with one of the top officials in the Home Office," he complained irritably. Everyone knew he detested dealing with domestic issues of government officials.

Everyone also knew one of Chelsea's greatest joys was learning about the domestic issues of government officials. It was all so _interesting_. "Which one would that be? Thompson?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "God, no, that would have been too easy," he grumbled. "No, it was Jensen."

Chelsea laughed loudly, clapping her hands together. "That's brilliant!" she declared, already in a brilliant mood and it wasn't even five in the morning yet.

She reached for her Blackberry to enter the information into her records, but Mycroft snatched it from her hands. When she opened her lips to protest, Mycroft held a hand up to silence her. "If you absolutely must record this into your phone, at least have the respect to wait until I finish the story."

Mycroft handed the phone back to her as he crossed his legs and reclined back against the seat. "It would seem that Mister Jensen had taken it upon himself to _conveniently _forget that he, indeed, has a very lovely wife already. His remarkably tiny brain, forgoing this piece of information, decided it would come to the brilliant conclusion of whisking this _girl_, because that's really all she is, can't be more than nineteen years of age, off to the Maldives."

Chelsea's jaw dropped open as she stared at her boss in disbelief. "Mycroft Holmes," she breathed in astonishment, "what have I done to deserve this _excellent_ piece of information?"

Mycroft smiled back at his assistant, his cheeks dimpling with mirth, in a gesture rarely, if ever, was seen outside of the intimate moments where he was alone with his assistant. Peter, of course, too, but he was the chauffeur, not his assistant, so, obviously, it was different.

He placed the coffee in the cupholder and pulled a thick file from his briefcase, holding it in front of Chelsea. "I found you a mission."

"Really?" Chelsea exclaimed, reaching out to grab the file, but Mycroft was faster and put it back inside the briefcase. "Don't be a tease, Mycroft," Chelsea pouted, picking up her Blackberry. If he wanted to bait her with a mission, only to take it away, she preferred to concentrate on something else, like the daily gossip forums.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I can't update you on the mission here, in the car, Chelsea. You know it could be bugged."

Peter cleared his throat gruffly, his eyes concentrating on the road ahead. "The car is most certainly not bugged, sir."

Mycroft ignored him and continued to stare Chelsea down. "I will inform you as to the specifics of your mission at a later date."

"Oh?" Chelsea challenged, still slightly put off from his prior actions, "and when would that be?"

Mycroft averted his gaze. "Tonight, I suppose."

There was something about the change in his voice and demeanor that intrigued Chelsea. She had never seen him act so… _bashful_ before.

Chelsea decided to push him a little further, rattle him up a little more before they arrived at the office and her boss stopped being a fun and started being the British Government. "Where? Because if this car is bugged, then, as it would naturally follow, everywhere we least expect is also bugged."

Mycroft mumbled inaudibly and fidgeted with the handle of his umbrella.

"Where, Mycroft?"

Sighing for the second time in the short car ride, Mycroft turned to face her once more. "My house."

She truly hadn't expected him to say that. His personal office in the Diogenes Club, maybe. His personal office at their workplace, most definitely. But his house, definitely not. "Your house?" she repeated slowly, thinking that she had misheard him, even though she knew she hadn't.

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft went back to fidgeting with the umbrella to distract himself. "Yes, obviously, Miss Daniels," he snarled condescendingly, before catching himself and checking his accidental hostility. "My apologies, Elsie," he said apologetically, lowering his voice and looking into her eyes, using intimate nickname for her in hopes that it would help his situation, not worsen it.

Years ago, Chelsea had been upset each time her boss treated her negatively. It took her a long time to realize that even though he could control his temper in regard to most aspects of his life and job, he had trouble controlling it when it came to his personal life and relationships with people in a non-work capacity. He didn't mean to come off patronizingly, it just happened sometimes.

Chelsea nodded her head, brushing the condescending retort off. "Don't worry about it, Mycroft. I know you can't help acting like you have a stick wedged up your," she joked, stopping her sentence as Mycroft interrupted her hastily.

"Yes, we get the idea," Mycroft said loudly, talking over his assistant. "Wells, shouldn't we be there by now? It's been _ages_."

"That's because you're practically an old man," Chelsea teased.

Mycroft tried to ignore the remark, but his amused dimples always gave him away to her. She knew he had no idea they did that; Chelsea doubted he ever looked into a mirror with a smile on his face or that he had any close friend to tell him his dimples gave him up.

"We're just pulling in now, sir," Peter reported tiredly, parking the car in front of the posh London office building.

"Yes, thank you, Wells," Mycroft replied curtly, having looked out the window only after he asked about their status.

Chelsea leaned over the seat and patted Mycroft on the cheek. "Try not to look so grumpy, Mycroft," she teased quietly, "because if you continue on like that, you'll start an international conflict before lunchtime."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her in indignation. "I would never," he announced in a very dignified manner as he collected his belongings and exited the car, holding the door for Chelsea to get out after him, "I am a very pleasant man to work for."

"Oh, of course you are," Chelsea chuckled, straightening his tie and smoothing down the front of his jacket affectionately.


	4. One Eye on the Shadows

**One Eye on the Shadows**

Mycroft checked the table settings for the hundredth time in the past hour as he anxiously paced through the ground floor of his house in anticipation for Chelsea's arrival.

Everything was in place; the intimate table was encircled by scores of flickering candles, the meal was spread out on plates of her favorite color, deep red, and the soft melodies of sweet piano arias whispered through the speakers hidden above.

Mycroft heard the doorbell rang and he paused, looking over the setting one last time.

Perhaps it was too much.

Licking his fingers, he extinguished one of the candles. Much better.

He padded through the house calmly, not wanting to give his assistant the wrong impression, but he knew deep down it was really the right impression. He straightened his suit and stole a glance at himself in a hallway mirror as he approached the front door.

Mycroft knew he shouldn't have overthought tonight. Chelsea was only supposed to come over for a briefing on her mission over a quick dinner, not for a candlelit dinner on the veranda.

Taking a deep breath for composure, he opened the door slowly to greet his guest. Chelsea beamed at him as he led her into the house. "I've never been in your house before," Chelsea observed pleasantly, holding out a plastic bag for him to take. "I picked up some take-out for us," she explained, shrugging off her thin jacket to reveal a deep red sleeveless dress made of some sort of silky material that reflected the hall light brilliantly.

Mycroft's eyes trailed down her frame, noticing her tanned legs for what seemed like the first time in the five years that she had worked for him. She usually wore trousers, but on the rare occasion she wore a dress or skirt, she made sure to always cover her legs.

Chelsea cocked an eyebrow at his atypical behavior. "Mycroft?"

Realizing he was being rude, Mycroft snapped out of his trance and took the bag from her, setting it aside on a table near the grand staircase. "My apologies, it must have slipped my mind to inform you that I've prepared us a little meal instead."

"You cooked?" Chelsea questioned, completely taken aback. "I didn't know you can cook!"

Mycroft chuckled, and Chelsea admired his adorable dimples. "Yes, I do have to feed myself somehow, Miss Daniels."

Chelsea laughed as well at her reaction; _of course_ he could cook. She shifted from one foot to another, looking around the expansive foyer. "Your house is beautiful," she complimented, pulling her hair over one shoulder. "You obviously have fine taste in decoration."

"That's too kind," Mycroft grinned, taking her hand into his. "Shall we?"

Chelsea looked down at the hands with a blush creeping over her cheeks as she nodded her consent. "Lead the way, Mycroft."

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><p>"Now Chelsea, you do understand that this is an unofficial mission," Mycroft drawled, placing his napkin on the table beside his finished dinner plate.<p>

Chelsea took a sip of wine and nodded her head. "This is strictly between to two of us, correct?"

Mycroft bowed his head, pleased with her correct deduction. Reaching behind him, he retrieved the file from that morning and placed it in front of her. Chelsea didn't open it, instead waiting for her boss to brief her on the mission before she went into the details contained in the file.

"You're aware I have a younger brother," Mycroft stated, remembering the last time Chelsea and Sherlock had spoken on the phone when she tried to relay a message from the elder Holmes brother to the younger one. Mycroft could only imagine how terribly it would go if the two were ever in the same room together.

Chelsea snorted into her wine glass and chose to set it back on the table before she made another undignified noise with it. "Yes, I am. I'm sorry."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "What are you sorry for?"

"That you're related to such an insufferable _prat_."

Not expecting such a response, Mycroft surprised both himself and his assistant by letting out a bark of laughter. "Yes, well, my younger brothers can't all live up to the high standard I set for them," Mycroft quipped lightly, taking a sip of wine.

Chelsea's jaw dropped open slightly and her eyebrows scrunched. "Brothers?" she repeated, emphasizing the plurality of the word.

Mycroft's lips drew into a thin line, as if he had a foul taste in his mouth. "I take it you have never heard of Sherrinford Holmes, then."

Her mind was reeling, partly due to the elegant wine, but mostly due to this novel revelation. Five years into her job, she thought she knew everything there was to know about Mycroft Holmes, but tonight was proving that maybe she knew nothing about him after all.

"No," Mycroft confirmed, pushing back from the table to recline in a more relaxing position as he steepled his hands in front of him, "you wouldn't have heard of him, practically no one has."

Chelsea leaned forward in confusion, shaking her head to try and get a grasp on the situation. "Am I to spy on your brother, Mycroft?"

Yes, he was most definitely impressed with his assistant, but he supposed he shouldn't forget that she was a trained MI-5 sleeper agent; of course she would be able to put things together more quickly than most people.

"Yes, you are."

"Why?" she inquired, narrowing her eyes at him as she often did when she didn't quite understand something.

Mycroft sighed. "My mother seems to believe that Sherrinford is engaging in illicit activity, and I am prone to agree with her judgment on this one."

Chelsea paused for a moment, breathing in the warm early summer night air. "How should I introduce myself to him?" she asked, getting right down to business. She pushed the fact that she was asking her boss how he would like her to introduce herself to his brother.

As a young, attractive woman, Chelsea was the perfect sleeper agent; she could become anyone's romantic interest without risking being suspected of anything but trying to be the best girlfriend possible.

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not particularly enjoying the mission's specifics, but it was the only way he could safely investigate his brother without seeming suspicious.

"My mother, as you know, is a mathematician, and therefore has deduced exactly how I will be going about this," Mycroft began. "Thankfully, Sherrinford takes after our father in the intellectual arena, so even if he thinks something is off, he won't be able to figure out _exactly_ what it is."

Chelsea grinned, trying to imagine an unintelligent Holmes. This would certainly be fun. "So your mother will know who I really am?"

Mycroft nodded. "Yes," he drawled, pulling a face.

"Why are you making a face, Mycroft?" Chelsea teased. "Do you not like your mother knowing about your mission?"

"That's not it," Mycroft retorted, averting his gaze.

"Well then, let's have it," she prompted him with an amused lilt.

Mycroft sighed theatrically before returning his gaze to his assistant. "She's practically taken over the mission!" he complained in exasperation.

Chelsea laughed at his reaction.

Mycroft admired her response to his reaction.

"Alright," Chelsea said, calming down, "how has your mother taken over your mission?"

"She picked the location for the start of your mission."

Chelsea smirked. "And where would that be?"

"The annual Holmes summer ball in a few weeks."


	5. Hey Fellas, Don't Be Jealous

**Hey Fellas, Don't be Jealous**

If Mycroft had known he would regret following his mother's plan, he would have arranged for Chelsea to meet Sherrinford under much different circumstances.

Chelsea spun around in front of him, her carefully curled hair bouncing around her torso; she had let it grow longer than the usually preferred because that's what Mycroft said Sherrinford liked.

"Well?" she asked insistently, staring up at him, "How do I look?"

Mycroft cleared his throat uncomfortably and nodded his head in approval, trying not to seem like he was admiring her body and appearance more than was professional, "Scarlet suits your complexion very nicely, I must say."

Chelsea beamed up at him happily. "Do I look good enough to tempt a Holmes?"

Mycroft knew she was referring to his brother, but he couldn't find it in himself to care that much about it. "Most certainly, Elsie."

Peter brought the car to a stop in front of them. Mycroft opened the car door for Chelsea to get in, sliding into the car himself after her.

"You look lovely, Miss Daniels," Peter greeted his passengers pleasantly.

"Yes she does, indeed," Mycroft interrupted as the car drove away from his house. He turned to the woman sitting next to him, "Now then, Chelsea, you are going to have to have a different life story."

Chelsea rolled her eyes and applied a coat of lipgloss to her lips, distracting Mycroft momentarily unknowingly. "Well, _obviously_, Mycroft; I have been on a mission before."

"Yes of course," Mycroft replied curtly, "but it would ease my anxiety greatly if you filled me in."

Chelsea took a deep breath in preparation for the elaborate background story she created the previous night. "I just recently returned to London from abroad. My parents were killed when I was very young, and I became an orphan. I was adopted and raised by a painter and a bassist who owned a small underground jazz club with one of his friends. I graduated from college with mediocre grades, didn't go to uni because I chased my good-for-nothing ex-boyfriend and his band on tour, and now I currently work as a writer."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows at her elaborate story, "I see you have portrayed yourself exactly according to his type; he should be smitten with you by the end of the night, I'm afraid."

"Naturally, that is why you hired me for this mission," Chelsea gloated confidently, playing with the clasp of her pearl bracelet.

Mycroft watched her struggling and reached over to help her out. "You're going to need an alias."

Chelsea watched him as he tenderly secured the bracelet around her wrist. "Any suggestions?"

Mycroft smirked. "I thought you would never ask."

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><p>"Anthea Hamilton, pleased to meet you, Mister Holmes," Chelsea purred, placing her hand onto the waiting hand of Sherrinford Holmes.<p>

Sherrinford Holmes was dashing- there was no other way to describe him. He had the high cheekbones of the Holmes boys, a square jawline, a pointed nose, and dark green eyes that smoldered intensely. He had thick dark brown, almost black, hair that was short, but still long enough for fingers to comb through and pull in the heat of an indecent moment.

"You seem to be blushing, Miss Hamilton," Sherrinford chuckled, rubbing a thumb over her hand that was in his.

Chelsea shook her head slightly to bring herself back into focus. "I know," she laughed lightly, taking a sip of the champagne he gave to her when he introduced himself. "This is all just so fancy. I'm afraid I've never been to such an exquisite event before."

He cocked his head as he looked at her analytically. While he had the good fortune to not lack any social grace as his two brothers, Sherrinford also lacked their infuriating ability to deduce everything about a person upon first glance.

Usually he didn't care about deducing people, but in this moment he wished he could read Anthea; she was an absolute mystery to him. He couldn't figure out how she knew his family enough to be invited to the ball.

Having worked as an agent and Mycroft's personal assistant, Chelsea had become proficient at reading people's emotions and thoughts, especially when they showed them so blatantly on their face, like Sherrinford did.

"Oh, you're probably wondering how I received an invitation," Chelsea guessed with an innocent smile, expertly hiding her deception. Sherrinford laughed and said he was wondering that. "I've been helping Mrs. Holmes write her autobiography," she lied, repeating exactly what Mycroft had told her to say.

Sherrinford chuckled as he gazed at her. "I take it you are not acquainted with anyone here then?"

Chelsea shook her head as she looked at the array of faces around her. "I only am acquainted with your mother and yourself."

"May I have the pleasure of showing you the ropes, in that case?" Sherrinford smiled dazzlingly down at Chelsea. She nodded and linked her arm through his outstretched one.

They watched the multitude of faces in the crowd as Sherrinford decided where to start introducing her.

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><p>Mycroft downed the rest of the champagne in his glass and glanced once more at Chelsea. He should have known she would look beautiful in the dark red, slim cut gown she chose for the occasion; her mission was to catch a specific man's attention, after all.<p>

It seemed that she had caught the wrong Holmes brother's eyes, he thought scathingly, grabbing a full champagne glass from a waiter and placing his empty glass on the tray in exchange. He was the British government; he should have had more internal self-control than this. He was a bad man, he thought as his gaze lingered on her long, exposed neck and elegant shoulders, exposed by the strapless dress she wore.

Sherrinford was currently hovering around Chelsea, like a mosquito around a light, and it was enough to cause him to ignore the socialite he was supposed to be listening to, under his mother's orders, in favor of glowering in the direction of his brother and his assistant.

"Mycroft? Did you hear anything I just said?" the young woman in front of him asked, waving her hand in his line of sight, trying to get his attention back on her.

Mycroft sighed in annoyance and narrowed his eyes at the woman. "No, and I certainly do not regret having missed your assuredly _astute_ observations of the people here tonight," he sneered at the blonde woman.

She rolled her eyes at his caustic attitude. "Whatever, Mycroft," she replied flippantly, "I only came over to talk to you because your mother asked me to."

Mycroft smiled tightly at the woman. "Well then it should not be too much of a burden on you for me to politely request that you leave my presence immediately," he said dismissively before he turned and walked in the opposite direction, no longer caring that his mother would have a few choice words for him once the socialite informed her on the exchange.

He had had enough of his mother _innocently_ pushing women onto him in hopes that he would be taken with one enough to marry her and produce an heir or two to the Holmes fortune.

As the eldest son, Mycroft was poised to inherit the fortune and the estate in its entirety, and Sherrinford had resented his elder brother for that fact his entire life. Sherlock, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with it at all.

As if he could read minds, Sherlock appeared at Mycroft's side, a snide smirk on his face. "Brother," Sherlock greeted smugly.

Mycroft smiled tightly at his brother. "What can I do for you, Sherlock?" he asked tiredly, sneaking a glance in Chelsea's direction.

Sherlock's gaze followed Mycroft's and he smirked even more. "It would seem the middle son has something you covet, brother mine," he taunted.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at him. "You would be incorrect, as per usual, Sherlock," Mycroft retorted.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in challenge. "_Please_ save it for an idiot, Mycroft," Sherlock muttered, "Anyone can see how you're watching that girl almost as closely as you say you watch your weight, which I might add, seems to be a little higher than you would like."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and ignored his youngest brother. He had more pressing matters on his mind. Like Chelsea.

* * *

><p>Over the course of the night, Chelsea found Sherrinford's company to be enjoyable. He introduced her to everyone who mattered, he sat by her at dinner and told her which utensils to use and when, and he danced with her in the ballroom after dinner.<p>

While his company was certainly enjoyable, Chelsea found herself wishing she were in the company of the eldest Holmes son. Throughout the party, Chelsea caught herself sneaking a glance in Mycroft's direction whenever Sherrinford was looking the other way.

Mycroft appeared to her to be in absolute agony the entire time, and Chelsea wanted nothing more than to flock to his side and provide whatever assistance he might have needed so that he wouldn't suffer so much as he currently was. He hated family functions, and Chelsea knew that he dreaded the annual ball every single year.

"Anthea, would it be too forward of me to offer you a ride home?" Sherrinford asked her, bringing her back to the present.

Chelsea smiled in gratitude and placed a hand on his arm. "Thank you, I'd love that."

Sherrinford smiled back down at her and extended his arm so that she could link hers through his. "It's just this way," he said, guiding her to one of the black cars with tinted windows.

He opened the door for her and slid in right after her; Chelsea figured that the Holmes' family only traveled by chauffeured vehicles. While she herself came from money, with her father being a prominent politician, Chelsea's wealth was no match for that of the Holmes family.

As the car pulled away from the estate, Sherrinford turned toward Chelsea and took her hand into his tenderly. In the moonlight, Sherrinford's dark eyes sparkled brilliantly. "I am so grateful that I met you tonight, Anthea."

Chelsea genuinely blushed at the sentiment, despite the fact it came from Mycroft's suspected criminal brother. "I feel the same way."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Sherrinford chuckled in relief. "May I kiss you, Anthea?"

Chelsea chuckled at his forwardness, but keeping her mission in mind, she nodded her allowance. Sherrinford slid onto the middle seat next to Chelsea and roughly pressed his lips to hers; Chelsea prayed with all of her heart this was not how all of the Holmes boys kissed as she tried her best to ignore the fact that the embrace was one of the least sensual or romantic ones she had ever experienced, and kissed him back, maintaining her cover all while wondering if this was what it was like to kiss a Holmes brother.


	6. The More You See

**A/N: I'd like to thank the lovely guest review for motivating me enough to write another chapter this soon! Reviews make me so happy and happy me writes much faster!**

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><p><strong>The More You See…<strong>

"Red," Chelsea predicted, placing her Blackberry on her lap and taking the red travel coffee mug into her hands.

Peter almost pressed his face to the car window as he confirmed that Chelsea was, as per usual, correct. Mycroft was indeed wearing a red tie today.

The door opened and Mycroft slid in; it was instantly obvious that Mycroft was in a foul mood and it wasn't yet five in the morning. Today would be a long day, Chelsea thought as she silently traded the coffee mug for Mycroft's umbrella.

Peter started the car and began to drive away from the large house. "How are you today, sir?" he asked, as he did every morning, flicking his eyes to Mycroft in the rearview mirror briefly.

Mycroft sighed in frustration; Chelsea shot him a questioning look. "Is everything alright, sir?" she asked hesitantly. Mycroft hadn't contacted her the day after the ball for a progress report as he said he would.

Not following through was certainly not something Mycroft Holmes would do. Chelsea raked her brain the entire day and night before today, trying to come up with a reason why her boss was ignoring her.

Mycroft analyzed her through cold, scrutinizing eyes. Chelsea held her ground without blinking or showing fear, but inside she was cringing from the lack of warmth in his eyes. He had never been like this with her before.

What had she done to bring this change in personality? Chelsea had no idea why her boss was suddenly treating her as if she were just another mindless, insipid member of the public, instead of his intelligent personal assistant he's known for years.

He looked back out the window and took a sip of his coffee. "I trust you have followed through with your orders?" he inquired stiffly.

Chelsea's shoulders sagged slightly and her face dropped for a second as a result of Mycroft's behavior towards her; she couldn't fathom why he would change so suddenly, but perhaps he was just having a very bad day and couldn't fake his calm demeanor.

But that never happened; Mycroft Holmes was the master of disguising his inner turmoil.

"Yes sir," Chelsea replied professionally. If Mycroft wanted to be detached and cold, so would she. She was a strong, independent woman and she didn't need to be affected by some man's tumultuous emotional state in the present. She was having a fantastic day up until now, and she would be damned if he ruined her day all because he was in a foul mood.

Mycroft removed his gaze from the window and pulled the mission folder from his briefcase. He reached into his coat pocket and removed an expensive fountain pen that Chelsea was sure cost more than some of the articles of clothing she was currently wearing, and she had expensive taste in clothing.

Chelsea realized he wanted a rehashing of the progress she had made so he could record it for official records.

She took a deep, calming breath, becoming suddenly uncomfortable about telling her boss how her relationship with Sherrinford was progressing. "Sherrinford Holmes was very taken by me at the ball and made it a point to be my escort the entire night," she recounted.

Mycroft wrote Chelsea's replies word for word in his elegant script. "Is that all, Miss Daniels?"

Chelsea stared at him. "How much more do you wish to know, Mycroft?" she asked hesitantly.

Mycroft removed his eyes from the notes and narrowed his eyes at her.

Peter glanced between the two in the rearview mirror, worry etched onto his face; he had never seen them act so formal or cold with one another. What had happened over the past two days?

"You are fully aware of what information is required for official mission records," Mycroft snapped exasperatedly.

"Why are you in such a foul mood this morning, Mycroft?" Chelsea fired back indignantly, avoiding his original question for more information about her mission progress.

"That is most certainly none of your business, _Daniels_."

Chelsea narrowed her eyes angrily at his use of her last name. "You were supposed to call me yesterday, the day after the ball, for the mission report."

Mycroft rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "I decided that you would not have much to inform be about, save for the fact that you merely attracted my brother, and as you have just confirmed in one sentence, I was right."

Chelsea seethed as Mycroft continued with an air of condescension. "Your mission was to make sure you have a relationship with Sherrinford, and you merely attracted his attention for one night," he sneered.

She had had enough of his attitude. Chelsea didn't care that he was the British government; right now he was her malicious boss, and she planned to put him in his place. "Your brother drove _me_ to my house," she began slowly.

Mycroft made a noise low in his throat. "Hardly demonstrates his attachment to you."

Chelsea set her jaw obstinately. "But before that, we had a nice, long snog in the backseat of his car," she hissed at him.

Mycroft was startled and his eyes widened at the information. "What?" he sputtered.

"Oh yes, Mycroft," Chelsea continued angrily, "and it was _hot_."

Mycroft couldn't believe what Chelsea had said, but deep down he knew it had to be true. He had pushed his personal assistant into providing information she wanted to keep secret from him, and he shouldn't have done that. This information wasn't relevant to the mission records.

He was about to apologize to her for his behavior, but her Blackberry buzzed loudly on her lap. Chelsea inhaled deeply and put the phone next to her ear, accepting the call.

"Hello?" Chelsea asked. She was silent for a moment. "Yes, please place them outside of my door, I will bring them in when I get back from work. Thank you very much."

She ended the call and slipped the phone into her purse, before turning to Mycroft. He was still staring at her with wide eyes. "That was my landlady. Sherrinford sent a lovely bouquet of flowers to my apartment this morning," Chelsea muttered, still angry from the exchange. "It seems that I did complete this stage of the mission."

Mycroft drew his lips into a thin line as he scribbled into his notes, put off from apologizing once more as his mood slipped into a bad one once more.


	7. The Less You Know

**A/N:** First, I'd like to thank **cornishrexmomma** for her lovely review because it motivated me to write a second chapter today. I wasn't planning on posting it until tomorrow or the next day, you know to spread it out a little, but then I received another lovely guest review, and I decided to just post it tonight because I'm in such a good mood now.

**Guest who just updated:** (sorry that's more than slightly awkward) I completely agree with you! He really is. I'd love to tell you that they will have a romantic connection very soon, but unfortunately the story is about take a slightly dark turn for the worse before that happens. I've planned out the entire story already, like down to what will happen in each chapter, so I can tell you it is most definitely coming, there's just a lot of build up and angst before anything happens with them.

**Final note to anyone who may not remember the story summary's warning:** Within the next few chapters the story's rating WILL go up due to the dark turn I just mentioned. It should go up in chapter nine.

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><p><strong>The Less You Know<strong>

Chelsea shivered and pulled her long black coat tighter against her body to protect her from the cold late-October wind.

"You're not too cold, are you, Anthea?"

Chelsea smiled softly up at Sherrinford and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm perfectly fine, Sher," she giggled, leaning against his chest for added warmth.

Sherrinford chuckled fondly and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on top of hers. "You know, we've been together for a few months," he said suddenly.

Chelsea turned around in the embrace so that her chest was pressed against his. She looked up at him with curiously raised eyebrows as she laughed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sherrinford craned his neck down to her height and pressed his lips against hers. "I don't know," he conceded lightly, "maybe that I can't believe how much I've grown to love spending time with you."

Chelsea grinned. "That might have something to do with me being your girlfriend, don't you think?" she jested.

"Can I ask you something without you thinking I'm completely daft?" Sherrinford asked, suddenly seeming very serious and self-conscious, catching Chelsea off-guard.

"Of course, anything."

Sherrinford led her over to an empty park bench and they sat down next to each other, her fingers interlaced with his. "I know this is very forward of me, but I want to have you in my presence all the time. It's like I can't get enough of you," Sherrinford confessed passionately.

Chelsea's breath caught in her throat, anxious at where he could possibly be going with this.

Sherrinford, not picking up on Chelsea's anxiety, continued. "I guess what I want to ask is, will you move in with me?"

Chelsea inhaled abruptly and held her breath as she calculated all of the possibilities this new proposal had for the advancement of her mission.

What would Mycroft have to say about this?

Mycroft had been particularly difficult to handle in the past few months since the ball and the beginning of her mission to spy on the middle Holmes brother. On some days, Mycroft was himself, but on other days, Mycroft was distant and irritable towards her for no reason.

At first, Chelsea thought his rapidly changing moods was a by-product of her not being available all day and night at her boss's every beck and call since she now had to balance her work life with her "relationship" with Sherrinford Holmes. She was juggling two Holmes brothers at once and honestly, it was wearing her out.

But as of recently, Chelsea had another thought as to why Mycroft was suddenly so cross with her more so than she deserved- perhaps, she actually did deserve it. Mycroft, and by extension, Chelsea, were used to overseeing intelligence agents on missions. The intelligence agents were ruthless and expedient, always being able to complete the mission in next to no time at all.

Chelsea's mission had stalled for the past few months without any evidence incriminating Sherrinford. Mycroft expected results and Chelsea was coming up short. She needed to find a way to prove herself to Mycroft as she had done when she first began working for him almost six years prior.

"Yes," Chelsea heard herself saying, "I'll move in with you!"

Sherrinford's face lit up with a bright smile and he pulled her into a bone-crushing hug as he laughed happily. Chelsea returned the gesture, telling herself that this was the best course of action if she wanted to find evidence.

"When can you move in?" Sherrinford asked, pulling away from her.

Chelsea pretended to think about it, but smiled when she saw Sherrinford get nervous. "When is the soonest you'll let me?"

Sherrinford chuckled and pressed his lips against hers hungrily; even after dating him for a few months, Chelsea could never get used to the way he kissed. She hated everything about it, not that she'd ever tell Mycroft that she lied when she said Sherrinford's kiss was _hot_. It was exactly the opposite.

"What about this weekend?"

* * *

><p>Chelsea zipped up the last of her suitcases and piled it on top of the others next to her flat's door. She had told Sherrinford that her landlady had sold the flat furnished to someone else, so she could only take what little she had brought with her. That, of course, was a complete lie. Chelsea planned to keep the flat for after the mission's end.<p>

It was a great flat.

Chelsea descended the stairs quickly and jumped into the black sedan waiting in the dark outside.

"Good morning, Peter," Chelsea greeted pleasantly. She shut the door behind her and placed the red travel coffee mug in the cup holder as she took her phone out of her purse to inform her boss that they were on their way to his house.

Peter smiled at her in the rearview mirror. "Good morning, Miss Chelsea," he replied cheerfully; he always made sure to be extra-nice to Chelsea in the mornings ever since he noticed that Mycroft and her didn't get along as well anymore. He still had no idea what happened between the two of them, but he was merely their chauffeur so he knew he would probably never find out.

"Peter," Chelsea started quietly with a hint of hesitation, "how would you tell someone something you know they won't like without it hurting them?"

Peter was silent for a moment; perhaps he would find out what was the matter, after all. In the very least, part of what was the matter. "I would definitely wait until after they have had their morning coffee."

Chelsea chuckled in amusement at Peter's reply. "I suppose you're right."

"Is there anything you need to get off your mind before we arrive at Mr. Holmes's place?"

"You'll hear everything in a few minutes," Chelsea said, looking out the window with an unreadable expression on her face, "but I just wanted to inform you in advance that I will not be Mycroft's personal assistant for an undetermined period of time."

Peter was about to ask her to clarify, but he stopped in front of their boss's house. He turned around in his seat to face Chelsea. "One last time, then?"

Chelsea smiled faintly. "Yellow."

Peter turned around in his seat. "Nah, you're definitely wrong this time," Peter scoffed. "He never wears yellow when it's raining."

"It's definitely yellow."

They watched intently as Mycroft patted his pockets down to make sure everything was there. He checked that the door was locked for the second time after exiting through the house door.

Mycroft turned toward the car and he slowly opened his umbrella to protect his expensive suit from the rain. The light from the veranda over the door showed the color of his tie.

"How," Peter said in amazement, "do you do that every single time?"

Chelsea smirked. "Most days, it's easy to predict. He has a pattern," Chelsea conceded conspiratorially. "But on other days, when I have no idea what he could possibly choose for his tie, I just look at his dry cleaning bill."

"You do his dry cleaning," Peter repeated. It all made sense now.

Chelsea laughed as Mycroft slid into the car and slammed the door shut. Peter drove away silently.

Mycroft handed Chelsea his wet umbrella and she handed him his coffee. Mycroft took a dignified sip of the coffee.

"Is there any reason you are fidgeting more than usual, Chelsea?" Mycroft drawled, casting a sideways glance in her direction.

Chelsea clasped her hands together over her Blackberry. "I have an update on the mission, sir."

Mycroft cocked his head to the side and gave her his full attention. "Sir?" he repeated. "You have not called me _sir_ in about four years, Elsie. What could possibly warrant your resort to using my title?"

"This is my last day working for you."

Shock flashed across Mycroft's face before her smoothed his expression over. "I am afraid I do not understand."

Chelsea stared at him, deciding if it was in her best interest to make a remark about this being the first time he didn't understand something.

She decided she had better not.

"Sherrinford asked me to move in with him."

Mycroft's eyebrows shot up in curiosity. "I am not the least bit shocked that he is moving this quickly; he has always been the most brazen and presumptuous out of the three of us."

Chelsea turned her head slightly to the side and shot Mycroft a look. "You were most definitely surprised just now. Don't even try to deny that."

Mycroft conceded with a soft gesture of his hands. "I am not denying that," he replied properly. "I was merely surprised by your decision to accept."

"Mycroft, this mission needs to progress at a much more rapid pace than it has been," Chelsea stated quickly. "I don't like this any more than you do."

Mycroft stared at her for a moment before taking another drink of the coffee to gather his thoughts. "So you plan on moving in with him this weekend, based on the sudden need to inform me of this information on a Friday morning," he conjectured. "I will be needing a replacement personal assistant come morning because once you move in with Sherrinford, you can not risk him finding out where you go to work."

Chelsea nodded. "Sherrinford thinks I am a writer. He can't know that I work for anyone, let alone you."

"Very true," Mycroft replied, "so it is in your best interest to cut off contact with this part of your life, at least until the mission has been completed."

"Not _at least_," Chelsea corrected, "I plan on coming back _as soon_ as the mission is over."

Mycroft smiled softly at her and she returned the gesture. She really would miss seeing him every day.

Mycroft suddenly grimaced as a thought became blatantly obvious to him. "I'm going to have to train a new personal assistant," he groaned, running a hand over his face in utter dread.

Chelsea laughed at her boss, reflecting the fondness she felt towards him.

Yes, she really would miss Mycroft Holmes.


	8. Protecting His Fellows

**A/N:** Here's the next chapter! This is the last chapter that will be rated T; the next one definitely won't be. I have absolutely no knowledge of lock picking and everything I write about comes from the internet, so I'm not entirely sure that it's true, but oh well.

**Alibird1:** Thank you so much for the review! It made me want to write the next chapter this morning. Hopefully I will be able to post it tonight, but we'll see. You're definitely going to see her as a sleeper agent in the next multiple chapters, so hopefully I'll be able to make her as hardcore as I want to!

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><p><strong>Protecting His Fellows<strong>

Chelsea smirked at the shiny piece of hardware in front of her as she reached into her back pocket and removed a tiny set of tools that her father had given her when she was young. Her mother was mortified when she saw that her husband had given their daughter a lock picking set for Christmas as a joke; he never thought Chelsea would ever have a use for such a gift, he only wanted to annoy his wife.

How were they to know that their daughter would come to always have the set on her person at all times?

As Chelsea crouched down in front of the door and admired lock, she realized that for a Holmes, Sherrinford really was unintelligent; after all, he had mistakenly thought that a simple pin-and-tumbler lock would be enough to deter prying eyes from gaining access to his study.

What an _idiot_.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_Anthea, just leave your luggage in the car," Sherrinford instructed, taking her hand into his as they exited the black sedan. "The driver can bring them up to your rooms for you."_

_Chelsea glanced back at the chauffeur and felt slightly bad about making him carry her things in, but she knew that making a fuss would be a dangerous move, especially on the day she moved into Sherrinford's place._

_She gazed up at the house in front of her. While it was nowhere near as expansive and well-kept as Mycroft's, it certainly was very nice. "My rooms?"_

_Sherrinford grinned and led her inside the house, guiding her up a set of stairs in the foyer. "I thought you might like to have a few rooms in the house to do with what you like," he explained, leading her down a brightly-lit hallway._

_"__That's very kind of you," Chelsea thanked him, stopping to kiss him briefly on the lips. She still couldn't get used to the bitter taste it left in her mouth._

_Sherrinford pointed to a set of rooms at the end of the hall. "They're all connected, but they're all for you," he said, wrapping his arms around her._

_Chelsea rose up on her toes to bring her lips close to his. "And what can I do for you to thank you for your generosity?" she breathed, looking from his lips to his eyes slowly._

_She had to maintain her cover._

_Sherrinford smiled tight-lipped at her and unwrapped his arms, taking a step away from her. His expression turned serious. "All I ask is that you respect my privacy and my wish for you to stay out of my study."_

_Chelsea fought the urge to smirk; so that's where he is keeping his secrets, she thought smugly._

_"__Anything for you, Sher," Chelsea cooed wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head against his chest._

_Sherrinford pulled her closer against his chest after a moment. "Thank you, Anthea."_

* * *

><p>Chelsea pulled the tension wrench out of packet and dramatically waved it in the air, excited at <em>finally<em> being able to put some of her training to work.

She inserted the short end into the lower portion of the keyhole and wondered if Mycroft Holmes knew how to pick a lock. On the one hand, Mycroft seemed to know everything, but on the other hand, Mycroft detested legwork and could have a dozen master locksmiths at his disposal to pick any lock he needed.

No, it would be neither, Chelsea decided as she turned the wrench clockwise to apply torque to the cylinder; Mycroft Holmes would either persuade or threaten the owner of the lock to open it for him.

Being the mere mortal that she was, Chelsea had to gain access the old fashioned way by picking the lock herself.

The wrench turned a fractional amount before it stopped, but Chelsea could feel that there was a soft stop as opposed to a firm stop; she had turned it the right way the first time.

Of course she had turned it right the first time. She would have been a terrible intelligence agent if she couldn't open a simple pin-and-tumbler lock in her sleep.

With one hand, Chelsea pushed the wrench in the same direction and held it there. With her other hand, she retrieved her small pick that resembled a dental tool and inserted it into the upper part of the lock.

This was all so pathetically easy, she almost felt bad for Sherrinford's lack of intelligence or forethought.

Exactly twenty-three minutes ago, Sherrinford informed her that he was going out for a pint with a few of the people he knew from work. He had told her not to wait up for him, that he would join her in bed when he returned home.

Chelsea waited the specific amount of time that would allow for someone to leave, notice if they are or are not missing anything, and return if they were, in fact, missing something. Once she was in the clear, she headed to his study in hopes of finding some evidence of the type of illicit activity he was up to.

She stroked the pick over the individual pins inside the lock, stopping once she found the pin that was hardest to push upwards with the pick; she pushed the pin upwards until it set, getting it completely out of the cylinder of the lock.

The hardest part out of the way, Chelsea deftly did the same to the remaining pins in the lock. She turned the tension wrench in the cylinder, unlocking the door to Sherrinford's study.

"You boys are beautiful," she murmured to her wrench and pick as she removed them from the lock and tenderly placed them back into her kit, placing that back into her back pocket. Checking once more that the hall was empty, she opened the door and entered the study, closing the door softly behind her.

Sherrinford's study was dark, so Chelsea pulled out a small light and found her way to the desk. Some agents preferred to turn the room lights on, but Chelsea preferred to use a small light in case someone observed a room light on when it shouldn't be.

The desk's drawers were all locked, which was no surprise; each lock was more simple than the last, which also was no surprise. Within a few minutes, Chelsea had gained access to every desk drawer.

In the upper left drawer, Chelsea found a leather-bound journal containing a series of codes and numbers on the pages. She used her Blackberry to take pictures of a few of the pages before returning the journal.

Not wanting to risk being found out, Chelsea locked every drawer once more and left the office as if she had never been in there in the first place.

Changing the passcode on her phone as she did every night, Chelsea found her way through the house to her bed. She slipped into the warm blankets and drifted off to sleep, pleased at finding whatever she had found.

Mycroft would be in a good mood tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately for Chelsea, Sherrinford was not in such a mood.<p>

When she had woken up, she found Sherrinford haphazardly sprawled out on the living room couch, his mouth wide open and his clothing all disheveled and wrinkled.

Chelsea had grimaced down at him before stalking off to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee before her meeting with Mycroft in a few hours.

Sitting on a stool by the kitchen counter, Chelsea sent a quick text to Mycroft, who was saved under the alias "Uncle Mike" in her mobile just in case Sherrinford got ahold of her phone.

Mycroft's nostrils had flared with hatred of the alias when she informed him of it, but he hadn't said anything about it, choosing to change the subject as quickly as possible. It was almost comical.

Chelsea decided she would definitely miss both assisting and irritating her boss while she was on the mission.

This mission couldn't be over soon enough, Chelsea thought as she observed a very hungover Sherrinford stumble into the kitchen and pour himself a cup of coffee.

She raised her eyebrows in his direction, distaste obvious on her face. "You didn't come home last night," she remarked slowly over her cup of coffee, dissecting him with her cutting gaze.

Sherrinford slammed the cup down onto the counter and rounded on her. "Really?" he fired back angrily, "then how did I end up sleeping on the couch, Anthea?"

Chelsea narrowed her eyes dangerously at his sudden outburst. She had never seen him act aggressively in the few months she had been with him. Even though she was supposed to be infiltrating his life and his heart, she couldn't just back down from confrontation; to do so would be incredibly dangerous, especially in her line of work.

She set her coffee cup down on the counter and took a deep breath. "Why didn't you come back like you said you would?"

Sherrinford rolled his eyes dramatically; Chelsea noted this must be the expression of choice for the Holmes brothers if the two Holmes she knew expressed their emotions in such a way. She bet the youngest Holmes did the same.

"That is none of your business," Sherrinford retorted. "Besides, it's not like there was anything exciting for me to come back to if I had come home."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Sherrinford shrugged noncommittally. "You know what I meant."

"Whatever, Sherrinford," Chelsea muttered angrily, jumping off the stool and walking out of the kitchen, heading for her rooms. She might as well get ready for her meeting with Mycroft.

Shutting the door to her personal room that Sherrinford had given her, Chelsea opened the wardrobe and got dressed for the day, putting more effort into the simple task than she normally did.

Finally pleased with her appearance, Chelsea grabbed her purse and walked downstairs, noticing Sherrinford waiting for her patiently at the bottom of the stairs.

"Anthea, I am sorry for what I said earlier," he apologized, taking her hand into his. "I had a rough night and one too many pints, and I took that out on you. I'm sorry."

Chelsea looked at him for a long moment as she weighed her options. Either she could continue to be angry with him for being a complete ass to her that morning and that could potentially create an impediment to her mission, or she could forgive him and that would allow for her mission to progress more smoothly and efficiently.

"I'm sorry for not respecting your privacy," Chelsea lied, doing her best to look remorseful. "Can we just forget this happened?"

Sherrinford smiled down at her and pecked her on the lips. "Of course," he replied, before he noticed her attire. "How come you are all dressed up?"

Chelsea chuckled and looked at what she was wearing with amusement. "What are you talking about, Sher? It's like you've never seen me wear a dress before."

"You must have some reason why you look so nice."

Chelsea rolled her eyes, trying to appear fond and playful toward the man she was supposed to think of as her boyfriend. "I'm going into the city to write a little more today."

Sherrinford nodded. "I find it so _sexy_ that you're a writer."

Chelsea kissed him on the cheek and went to open the door. "I'm going to take one of the cars, if that's alright with you?"

"Of course," Sherrinford said, kissing her goodbye as she left the house.

Chelsea walked to the detached garage as fast as she could and slid into a black sedan, starting it up and driving away from the house.

As she drove toward the city, she took a strange route, just in case she was being followed. Chelsea knew Sherrinford was too much of an idiot to think she would need to be followed, but she didn't want to take any chance.

An hour later, Chelsea parked the car in front of an intimate bistro. Before she even walked in, she knew Mycroft was there; the place was empty and from the outside it looked closed, but she knew it wasn't.

He was so dramatic.

* * *

><p>"How goes domestic life, Chelsea?" Mycroft taunted with mirth dancing in his blue eyes. "Or do you exclusively go by <em>Anthea<em> now?"

Chelsea raised her eyebrows and smirked at his teasing, that meant he was in a pleasant mood this morning, as she had predicted. "You can call me whatever you'd like, _sir_."

Mycroft stared at her blankly, trying to deduce her, which he was aware that she always knew whenever he deduced her. "How is domestic life treating you?" he repeated again.

Chelsea shrugged. "Considering that I have only lived with your brother for twenty-six hours and neither one of us has killed the other, I would have to say that it is a roaring success," she replied with thick sarcasm.

"Oh?" Mycroft tried to not show his personal interest in his personal assistant's personal domestic life.

"I've collected some interesting information while Sherrinford was out last night," Chelsea said, passing her Blackberry to her boss.

He flicked through the pictures of Sherrinford's journal. "I see…" he muttered, recording the codes and numbers into his memory.

"I couldn't risk collecting more information," Chelsea added, "but I plan on doing more tonight."

Mycroft looked at her intensely. "Be careful, Chelsea. If my deductions are correct, which I know them to be, Sherrinford is the lieutenant of a drug cartel based in London. Even though he is not the cartel's lord, he is still potentially very dangerous as the second in command."

Chelsea laughed his warning off. "He _apologized_ to me for being rude thing morning," she countered. "He's harmless. I've had much more dangerous targets before."

"Look how the last one ended," Mycroft retorted, reminding her of the explosion that landed her in the hospital for over a year. "Just… just please be careful. If there is any sign of danger to your person, I play on removing you from the mission immediately."

Annoyed, Chelsea narrowed her eyes at him. "Why?"

Mycroft shrugged, still managing to make the gesture dignified. "I need a competent personal assistant again. The one that replaced you temporarily is an _idiot_."


	9. Loves 'em and Leaves 'em

**A/N: Here's the next chapter! I take back what I said about this being the chapter where the rating goes to M, that'll be the next chapter, not this one. I'd like to thank the guest, cornishrexmomma, and alibird1 for their lovely reviews! They make me so excited about writing and posting!**

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><p><strong>Loves 'em and Leaves 'em<strong>

Mycroft Holmes was not normally a man prone to giving in to his vices, unless they were the rare piece of double-chocolate cake, bespoke umbrellas, or masterfully-crafted three-piece suits.

No, Mycroft prided himself on his ability to divorce his desires from the country's necessities. There was never an instance he could recall wherein he satiated his impulses at the expense of his work. And he had an exemplary memory.

Mycroft Holmes was not a sentimental man, yet he found his sentiment and desires getting the better of him as he stared intently at the CCTV feed on his laptop screen, forgetting about the pile of urgent files perched on the corner of his desk.

Was spying on his sleeper agent while she was out on a date with her boyfriend more important than dealing with the current crisis involving a potential leak of operative information to terrorist insurgents?

The jealous burning in the pit of his stomach told him it was more important; _she _was more important.

The country's operatives be damned, at least until the couple were out of reach of his surveillance cameras. Then Mycroft promised himself he would finally devote the entirety of his attention and efforts to solving the political and security crisis underway.

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><p>Chelsea Daniels was not normally a woman prone to giving in to her vices, unless they were expensive handbags, new Blackberry models equipped with the latest in surveillance technology, and being an <em>absolute<em> pain in the ass.

The first two vices were easily remedied by a quick swipe of her credit card, but the third vice required a little more refinement. She had to wait for the perfect moment in order to maximize the effects of her bad behavior.

As Chelsea wrapped her coat around her tightly and followed Sherrinford out of the restaurant, she couldn't help but find herself tittering with mirth over her latest attempts at being a major thorn in her boss's side.

It wasn't really impossible to deduce that Mycroft would be spying on her and Sherrinford while they were at dinner. All it took was a quick assessment of the place to see that there were a number of optimally-placed surveillance cameras, and Chelsea knew that Mycroft would be using them to his advantage.

Mycroft prided himself on his lack of sentimentality, but Chelsea had always seen right through his charade, ever since she witnessed him pleading with his youngest brother on the phone to "clean his act up or else Mummy would find out."

Yes, Chelsea knew, she just _knew _that she occupied a very, very special position in her employer's heart, saved for his parents and youngest brother. She knew she was the newest addition to the few people closest to Mycroft Holmes, and she couldn't deny that her own heart skipped a beat every now and then she thought about the potential implications of this development, not only on her professional life, but also on her personal life.

Sliding into the black cab behind Sherrinford, Chelsea almost snorted at the concept of her personal life. She had kissed what little there was of her personal life 'goodbye' long ago when she accepted Mycroft's offer to be his personal assistant, his right hand man, well, _woman_, in this case.

She couldn't quite remember when Mycroft Holmes had become the force that her personal life gravitated around, but it didn't matter, not really. Her personal life was her professional life, and her professional life revolved around Mycroft Holmes, and Chelsea liked it that way.

Chelsea found comfort in Mycroft's quirks and behaviors, his commitment to his duties, and his downright denial of what he perceived to be his faults.

Now, having been deep undercover as a sleeper agent dating the middle Holmes son, Sherrinford, Chelsea found herself missing Mycroft Holmes more than she thought to be entirely appropriate given their circumstances as employer and employee.

The cab pulled in front of Sherrinford's residence and they both went inside after he paid the cabbie. Chelsea always felt a little bit of dread each time she left the public eye with Sherrinford, knowing Mycroft wasn't giving her his attention when he couldn't see her through CCTV.

"Could you turn on the telly, Anthea?" Sherrinford called as Chelsea threw herself down onto the couch. "I'll be right in."

Chelsea rolled her eyes; yet another night where her peace and quiet would be disturbed by her "boyfriend's" shouting at the football matches. "Of course, Sher," she replied sweetly, hating herself for doing so.

Sherrinford sat down next to her on the couch and slid his hand up her exposed thigh, a sly smirk pulling at his lips and a mischievous twinkle dancing in his eyes.

Chelsea fought every urge to simultaneously gag and/or prevent his hands from ever touching her, his lips from ever smirking at her, and his eyes from ever twinkling at her again; instead she settled for returning his gaze with a suggestive smile.

"See anything you like?" she teased.

Sherrinford's free hand grasped her shoulder and pulled her to him. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do see something I like," he murmured roughly, his lips almost touching hers, "but the issue is that I don't see _enough_ of what I like, Anthea."

The mission was easy so far, but herein lay the problem, the one singular reason why Chelsea wished she hadn't been picked for the mission.

She didn't want to get intimate with Mycroft's brother. Neither of his brothers, for that matter.

Chelsea looked up at Sherrinford demurely. "You know I'm very traditional about this, Sherrinford," she lied, hoping to convince him to delay his advances once more.

Sherrinford recoiled from her, moving to the opposite side of the couch.

"You said before you didn't have a problem waiting a few months before getting intimate," Chelsea protested when Sherrinford sent her a scathing look.

Sherrinford got off the couch. "How could I have known you'd keep up this Puritan act for so long?" he sneered contemptuously.

Chelsea remained silent, possible answers and reactions racing through her mind.

Sherrinford shook his head. "Whatever… I'll be in my study if you come to your senses," he said with a growl before stalking out of the living room.

Chelsea sat silently on the couch for a few minutes, trying to come up with a plan of action.

On the one hand, if she continued turning down Sherrinford's advances, eventually she would end up pushing him away until he ended the relationship, killing her mission prematurely.

On the other hand, if she decided to become sexually involved with Sherrinford, she would be able to cement her mission's success, but that success would come at the expense of her relationship with Mycroft Holmes, whatever relationship that was.

Chelsea was brilliant; she had to be to work for a man like Mycroft Holmes. But she was no comparison to him. While she was able to run scenarios and potential outcomes through her mind effectively, Mycroft was so much better at it, so much more equipped to do cost-benefit analyses.

With that in mind, she pulled out her Blackberry and sent him a text.

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><p>Mycroft was partway through the mass of files gracing his desk when he heard his mobile ping, signaling an incoming text from Chelsea; she had programmed a personalized text tone the one time she got ahold of his phone.<p>

He blinked multiple times and stared down at the words on the screen, wishing he was doing anything else, _was_ anyone else, just so he didn't have to make this decision, so he didn't have to live with the consequences of his decision. Consequences that would provide to be detrimental to both him and his favorite personal assistant, regardless of whichever way he decided.

Mycroft carefully sent his response and gently placed the mobile onto his desk, his fingers steepled under his chin, his thoughts becoming dark and disordered for the second time that night.

He was not a man prone to sentimentality, but that didn't mean he was not prone to jealousy. Mycroft didn't have to like the decision, he just had to live with it.

Mycroft could only hope Chelsea would forgive him for it one day.

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><p><em>How far undercover should I go, sir? <em>-_A_

_All in. -M_

_Yes, sir. -A_


	10. His Word is a Bond

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, this chapter was a lot harder to write than I thought it would be. As I warned in the last chapter, this chapter is the reason the story's rating has been upgraded to MATURE. There is a reason for that rating; this chapter is dark and uncomfortable and honestly, I hated writing it, so I can only imagine how it is to write it.**

**For anyone who is uncomfortable with this chapter, I apologize and advise you to stop reading at any point. You won't miss much in the way of plot, so I'll just say that Sherrinford is rough to Chelsea in a way she hadn't anticipated, and for that she has been thrown off-guard completely and is very distressed. There is no interaction with Mycroft yet, that will be in the next chapter.**

**I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed the story! I'm trying not to make the author's note too long before this chapter, so I won't thank you individually, but I just wanted you to know I loved each and every one of the reviews and they definitely helped me get this chapter written and posted. To answer the question: Mycroft and Chelsea(Anthea) will be getting together romantically soon, but it will take more than a few chapters to get to. This part of the story is important for developing their relationship because I feel that, based on the way they interact in the series, there is a deep trust and bond between the two, and this is how I am establishing that in my story.**

**One last warning: MATURE CONTENT.**

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><p>Mycroft Holmes owed her a major pay raise.<p>

No, Chelsea decided as she relaxed further beneath the bubble bath she had drawn herself, Mycroft Holmes owed her a promotion _and_ a pay raise when this was all over.

The things she had to put up with for the sake of his personal mission to spy on his brother far eclipsed anything she had done as a proper sleeper agent before the accident.

Chelsea winced at the pain that shot through her wrists when she twisted the handle to stop the water before the tub overflowed. She knew they were purple without having to look at them; she dreaded to consider the condition of other, more intimate, parts of her body.

She had certainly not signed up for this. Let impressing her boss be damned; she deserved a damn medal after the events of the night before.

A medal, a promotion, and a pay raise.

Chelsea leaned over the tub and turned her Blackberry on silent after it pinged, letting her know someone was having some kind of a crisis. She wasn't in the mood; she had a crisis of her own to deal with.

A medal, a promotion, a pay raise, _and_ the latest Blackberry model were exactly how she planned for Mycroft Holmes to remedy this for her.

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><p><em>Her throat constricted uncomfortably as she replied to Mycroft's instructions. <em>

_All in._

_Chelsea wondered briefly if his decision distressed him as much as it did her. She figured it didn't; she was the one who had to carry out the mission, after all, not him. _

_He was probably reclining into a cushioned leather chair somewhere in the depths of the Diogenes Club, retreating into the endless vaults in his mind while he enjoyed a particularly expensive brand of whiskey in front of a roaring fire._

_When she had been an agent prior to the explosion, she obviously had to engage in _relations _with her targets to maintain the facade of a loving girlfriend, carefully protecting her intelligence mission. While she was never attracted in the least bit to any of her targets, she was able to put her personal opinions and feelings aside in order to play her role, especially when it came to bedroom relations._

_But with Sherrinford Holmes as her target, and her mission director being his elder brother, Mycroft Holmes, everything was different; Chelsea found herself struggling to divorce her feelings for Mycroft from her faked interactions with Sherrinford._

_Feelings… Chelsea denied it in her mind for a while, but she finally had enough time to herself, not having to run around and carry out every single one of Mycroft's orders, to sort her personal life out. But she had, and she could definitely admit to herself that she felt more than a friendly attachment to her boss. _

_For a while Chelsea thought it was just a mere attraction to Mycroft, but after thinking it through, she realized she had been playing moments with Mycroft over and over in her mind whenever she was around Sherrinford. _

_And tonight was no different, she thought, pushing the ramifications of her task to the back of her mind as she undressed until she stood in the middle of the living room, scantily-clad in her lacy lingerie._

_"__You survived an explosion," she whispered to herself, getting her prepared to do something she had put off for months, "you can survive an encounter with Sherrinford."_

_As she walked through the house, she was thankful that all of the household staff had been given the night off. Her hand outstretched, about to wrap her knuckles against Sherrinford's study door, she decided that the sooner she did this, the sooner it would be over._

_Seconds after she knocked on the door, it swung open, revealing Sherrinford with an annoyed expression on his face; she did know that he hated being disturbed when he was in his study, but she hoped he would make an exception just this one time._

_And she was right. Sherrinford's eyes hungrily took in her body. "I take it you've come to your senses?" he asked moodily, his voice becoming gravelly with lust. _

_Chelsea followed him inside the study and locked the door slowly behind her, sauntering confidently to the center of the room to press her body against his, already feeling him react to her. "I have," she purred, although she honestly hated the way he was being so controlling with her. He wasn't like this when she first started dating him, but then again, she supposed Mycroft had warned her about him, or at least tried to since she wouldn't listen to him._

_Sherrinford aggressively pulled her flush against him with one hand pressed to her lower back, the other one snaking around to unclasp her bra. Chelsea didn't react as the fabric fell away from her, choosing to stare into his eyes intently to make sure he didn't suspect anything off about the interaction._

_Brushing her lips against his neck, Chelsea began to unbutton his shirt. "You've got too much on, Sher."_

_Sherrinford grabbed her hands and walked her towards his desk, stopping once her back came into contact with the hard surface. So he wanted it rough, _fantastic_,Chelsea thought disparagingly; she really wasn't one for this kind of intimacy, instead preferring candle-lit romance that lasted the entire night through, continuing through until the morning until one of them collapsed into contented sleep, the other one slowly following suit._

_Sherrinford roughly kissed her lips, and she finally noticed the taste of vodka on his lips. In the back of her mind, distant alarms began ringing, but she knew she couldn't stop now. If she did, she would jeopardize the mission._

_She had to go through with this, whether she wanted to or not. She just hoped Mycroft would never know about the specifics._

_"__Stop," he growled, seizing her wrists once more as she tried unbuttoning his shirt for a second time. "You will submit… Understood?"_

_Chelsea nodded slowly, making Sherrinford narrow his dark eyes at her. "Anthea, tell me you will submit to me."_

_Letting her arms go limp, Chelsea surrendered herself to him. "I submit," she whispered, allowing her voice to quiver slightly, knowing it would please Sherrinford to hear such a passive noise._

_Sherrinford made a low noise, deep in his throat as he unzipped his trousers, pulling her panties to the side roughly. "Say my name," he demanded, pressing himself against her, holding her wrists beside her hips to prevent her from struggling._

_Chelsea swallowed down the fear that was rising in her throat, drawing on all the years of resistance training she received when she was training to be an agent. Despite whatever she felt, she could never show it, not now. "Sherrinford."_

_At the murmur of his name, he plunged himself deep into Chelsea, ignoring her startled, pained cry. "Say it again," he growled, demanding her to say his name once more as he thrust forcefully against her hips for a second time._

_Chelsea squirmed against his driving thrusts, but her wrists were still restrained; she hadn't figured Sherrinford was actually this strong. She had underestimated him at her detriment once again._

_ "__Sherrinford, please," she begged quietly, tears beginning to well up in her eyes at the pain caused by Sherrinford's violent movements, "you're hurting me."_

_Sherrinford paused for a moment and glowered down at her. "Do not tell me what to do, Anthea" he barked, thrusting powerfully into her hips to punctuate each word. _

_Despite the fact that she had been intimate with the couple of targets she had had before, she had never felt this scared as a result of it; she had never been hurt like this from any of her targets, and that scared her the most. The loss of control was something she had never experienced before, and it _terrified_ her._

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><p>Chelsea screwed her eyes shut, unwilling to be mentally present in that moment anymore; Sherrinford had absolutely shattered her confidence in herself and her mission, and more than that, he had assaulted her in a way that would haunt her for many years to come, if not for longer than that.<p>

She couldn't tell Mycroft what happened, that much was certain. He would take her off the mission, and she couldn't deal with being a failure in his eyes. At least, she hoped that would be how he would react; there was always the awful possibility that he wouldn't care and tell her to continue the mission.

Chelsea shook her head, telling herself not to think of that, not to think of Mycroft behaving in such a way, but there always was that possibility. _She_ was the one with personal feelings, not him.

No, she would carry on the best way she could, even if that meant losing herself in the process.

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><p><em>Minutes later, Chelsea lay on the study floor, leaning against the cold desk legs for support. Sherrinford had left her abruptly after he finished getting his way with her, muttering something about going to the pub, or to work, or <em>whatever_, Chelsea didn't listen because she didn't care at all in that moment._

_She just wanted to go back to her morning car rides with Peter and Mycroft, her long hours spent in the office with Mycroft, her nightly after-work car rides with Mycroft, the two of them not saying much from exhaustion after a long day… she just wanted to go back to being with Mycroft. _

_He was all she wanted in that moment, but at the same time, she never wanted him to see her this weak, this pathetic. Chelsea was always her best around him, which is just what Mycroft deserved of his personal assistant._

_As she felt her eyes burn with tiredness and unshed tears, Chelsea slid to the floor, laying her head against the warm carpet, letting her thoughts wander through cherished moments between her and her boss that she hoped with all her heart he cherished as well._


	11. Alone

**A/N: Here's the next chapter, everyone! It's a lot more pleasant to read and slightly cute, if I do say so myself, to make up for the previous chapter. **

**Alibird1: I know I need him to do that as well. You won't be disappointed by chapter 12, though :)**

**Cornishrexmomma: Thank you so much! I had such a difficult time writing it, but in the end I just had to force myself to do it. I don't think I will be writing another chapter like that, so we should be in the clear.**

**Guest: I'm glad you hate him! I do too. I'm trying to write a Holmes character that is so clearly different from his brothers, so I try to explore the difference in many ways, that unfortunately being one of them. And I can't confirm what Mycroft would do if he found out since I've written the outline for every chapter already, but you won't be disappointed.**

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><p><strong>Alone<strong>

When Chelsea was young, she loved everything about Christmas. Her parents, both being high up in the government, had always been able to give their only child the best and the newest toys. Everything was all about her, and that's the way she expected Christmas to always be.

But then she had become a sleeper agent and her definition of Christmas changed drastically. On certain missions that lasted through December and January, Chelsea wasn't able to spend time with her parents, instead having to spend the holiday with whatever low-life her target was at the time.

And this year was no different. Here she was, flipping through channels on the television, trying to find a program that wasn't about Christmas prematurely in the beginning of December. She was in a house that wasn't hers, sitting next to another one of her low-life targets, and pretending to care at all about him.

Chelsea really couldn't care less, but Mycroft Holmes had asked her to do it, so she would do so willingly.

"Anthea, I said I was sorry _a thousand_ times already," Sherrinford pleaded with her, pouting as if he actually thought it would make up for the events of the previous night.

Gazing back at him with a blank expression on her face, Chelsea tried not to roll her eyes. "What you did was wrong, Sherrinford," she stated, returning her attention to the television.

Sherrinford gently took her hands into his, forcing her to look at him once more. "What can I do to make it up to you?" he asked. "I'll do anything."

Chelsea thought about it for a few moments, running possibilities through her mind. She could flat-out forgive Sherrinford with no strings attached, but then she would essentially be telling him that what he had done was alright. On the other hand, she could continue to be angry with him, but then she would be potentially harming the mission.

No, she had to forgive him, but it had to come with some sort of demand to show him that while she would forgive him, he was most definitely wrong, and therefore had to make it up to her in some way that she knew he wouldn't like too much.

And she had the perfect idea what to say. "You know I've never had the easiest family life, what with my real parents being dead," she lied, touching upon the made-up personal history she and Mycroft had devised prior to the mission.

Sherrinford nodded compassionately, urging her to continue. Once again, she fought the urge to roll her eyes at his _sudden_ change of personality.

"And all I've ever wanted was a real Christmas, surrounded by a happy family," she continued, seeing the slightly confused look upon his face, unsure of where she was going with this. "I want to host Christmas here."

Sherrinford cocked an eyebrow at her demand. "You just told me you don't really have a family to invite for Christmas," he protested, but then remembering he was trying to apologize to her, changed his tone. "Who would you invite?"

Chelsea grinned, genuinely excited for the first time in a long time; she was finally going to be able to deal with her personal life and her mission at the same exact time. "Your family, of course!"

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Anthea."

"Why not?" she retorted, pouting. "I met a lot of them at the ball, and they were very nice. I'm sure they would love it… Besides, you asked how you could make it up to me, and this is what I want."

Sherrinford sighed. "I know, of course you can host the party here and invite my family," he conceded finally. "Just… could you not invite my brothers?"

Chelsea tilted her head, biting her lip to avoid laughing at his request. Dislike for the other brothers' presences seemed to be the defining trait between the Holmes boys. "Sher, they're part of your family," she replied soothingly, stroking his hands with hers, hoping the gesture would warm him to the idea. "I have to invite them as well."

Sherrinford slumped back into the couch moodily. "Do I really have to be nice to them, though?"

"What is your problem with them?" she laughed, leaning against his chest, all the while wishing she could strangle him for what he did to her. Apparently, she was very much still beyond angry with him. That anger would fuel her to pursue her mission even more so now. If not to impress Mycroft, then definitely to exact her revenge on Sherrinford once he was exposed for whatever illegal activity he was up to.

"Before Sherlock was born, it was just Mycroft and me," Sherrinford began, sighing once more at having to relive it. "Mycroft was a genius child, and so when I was nowhere near him, my parents were disappointed in me. You remember my father from the ball right?"

Chelsea nodded.

"He's not all that bright, nothing like my mother is, and as luck would have it, I took after him," Sherrinford said. "My mother had a hard time hiding her disappointment in me, so my father tried to get me out of the house as often as he could, teaching me sports and other things like that… Anyways, when Sherlock was born, it was clear within a few months that he was gifted, just like Mycroft was, and mummy and father loved him so much for it."

Sherrinford ran a hand through his hair, a distant look taking over his face as he continued with the story. Chelsea had to admit she was beyond interested in everything he was saying; she had always wondered what Mycroft was like as a child. "Even though Mycroft was seven years older than Sherlock, he took him under his wing from the moment he was born. I was forgotten by the two of them for years, but then once Sherlock was six, I found out that being forgotten by Sherlock and Mycroft was a good thing."

"What makes you say that?" Chelsea asked, but she knew where this was going. She had worked for Mycroft for years; she knew his personality well, how he dealt with those he deemed to be idiots.

"They never left me alone," Sherrinford replied with a sneer. "They always insulted my lack of intelligence, how mummy loved them more because I wasn't smart like they were. Sherlock was the worst, but he was always such an insufferable prat. I just wanted the love of my older brother, yet he never wanted to give it to me."

Chelsea placed a kiss on his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Sher."

Sherrinford shrugged, still not looking at her. "Ever since then, I've always distrusted overly-intelligent people. They always are looking to make fun of me, and I can't stand it."

"That's understandable."

Sherrinford finally looked down at her, a forced smile on his face. "But, no matter, Anthea," he said lightly, changing the subject. "A Christmas party with my entire family is what you want, so a Christmas party with my entire family is what you shall get, even if I despise two of those who will be in attendance."

Chelsea smiled and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you Sherrinford!" she exclaimed happily. "Do you want to start planning it now? There's so much to do!"

Sherrinford untangled himself from her embrace and stood up, backing away from the couch. "I think it's best for you to do the planning yourself," he said. "I'm far too busy with my work at the moment."

Chelsea's professional interest was piqued. "What work?"

Sherrinford narrowed his eyes at her. "Never mind that, Anthea," he said. "Just focus on the party."

Chelsea shrugged as he promptly left the room; his moodiness didn't matter to her anymore. She was going to be seeing Mycroft in a few weeks and it excited her to no end.

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><p>Mycroft had always hated Christmas, what with all of its fake cheer and forced interactions with family members he could do without seeing for the rest of his life.<p>

He sighed and closed yet another file, tossing it to the edge of his desk, on top of the 'finished' pile. His temporary assistant was supposed to have come by his office already to collect the files, but once again, she was late.

_Is there any reason why you are neglecting your duties, Betty? -M._

It was almost laughable to hear the clanging of things dropping outside of his office, his assistant scuttling to the door to attend to him.

"Sorry, sir," she apologized, taking the files from his desk.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows expectantly at her. "Well?"

Betty shifted uncomfortably, pulling the files closer to her chest for comfort. "Well what, sir?"

Rolling his eyes, he leaned back into his chair. "Is there any reason why you are neglecting your duties, Betty?" he repeated.

"I was just collecting the mail, sir," she stuttered, reaching into her bag and pulling out a bright red envelope. "This came for you, sir," she said meekly, handing him the envelope.

Mycroft examined the handwriting on the envelope intently and dismissed his assistant, telling her to close the door behind her on the way out.

When he was alone once more, Mycroft stared at the envelope. He had known it was from Chelsea the moment he saw her delicate handwriting upon it.

Mycroft was not a sentimental man, yet he had to repeat that mantra to himself multiple times per day, much more so lately. It had been months since he had seen Chelsea last and he missed her a lot.

He missed her; he could finally admit that to himself. It took a large bottle of brandy and a long night alongside a roaring fire, but, yes, he could admit that he missed her now.

Retrieving his letter-opener, he opened the envelope carefully, unwilling to make a mess of Chelsea's hard work. She always was frustrated whenever he made a mess of whatever she had just spent a long time working on.

Mycroft smiled at the memories of Chelsea rolling her eyes at him and telling him that he was such an _idiot_ sometimes; she was the only one allowed to call him that. Everyone else was too afraid to, and besides, she was the only one he acted like an idiot around. He couldn't help it.

The invitation, much like the envelope, was handwritten. It must have taken her forever to address and write all of the invitations by hand, Mycroft thought as he read it over. He decided that he would have to make an appearance at the party, if only just to see that his real assistant was alright.

Making a mental note to have his temporary assistant respond to the invitation in the morning, Mycroft put the invitation onto his desk, spotting a small script on the back of it that he hadn't seen before. He lifted it closer to his face to get a better look at the small sentence.

_I miss you, you idiot. -C._

Mycroft smiled at the strangely endearing message and without thinking, he pressed the invitation against his lips, wishing the mission was over already so that his favorite assistant would be his once again.


	12. See the Film, You'll Know How it Goes

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed the last chapter! Sorry this chapter has taken so long to write, I had trouble starting it, but regardless I hope you all enjoy!**

**Blood-Sucker-1428:** I'm glad you're so intrigued! I love their pairing too and I wish there will be more scenes with her in the show; she's absolutely fabulous in the episodes she's in. I wasn't sure if I was going to have Sherlock attend the Christmas party, but we'll see!

**Cornishrexmomma: **I couldn't wait for the Christmas party either, but it was hard writing it because I wanted it to be just like I imagined in my head. Honestly, I rewrote it a few times from different characters' perspectives to try to get it right. He'll definitely be quite melted in this chapter and from now on :)

**Alibird: **Thanks for the review! I completely agree, they're absolutely adorable together.

**Both Guests: **Thank you so much for your reviews!

**Icohbh: **I hope you'll love this chapter as well! Your review made me laugh out loud. People gave me odd looks for it :)

**AkatsukiShizu3: **Completely agree about Sherrinford, he really is. Unfortunately, he'll only get more so, but Mycroft will make it better eventually. Since this story is set a couple of years or so before the beginning of the television series, John isn't in the story yet, but he will be eventually once I get to that point. I have the entire story outlined and so I can definitely say he will be in the story eventually. He will meet Chelsea/ Anthea the same way as he did in the show.

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><p><strong>See the Film, You'll Know How it Goes<strong>

_Meet me behind the garage in twenty minutes. -M._

"Anthea, darling," Sherrinford called her, walking into the kitchen, "Mummy wanted me to check on how tea was coming. She wants to know if you need assistance."

Before he noticed the balled up note upon which Mycroft had elegantly scrawled the demand, Chelsea thrust it haphazardly into a messy kitchen cabinet drawer, fully aware Sherrinford would never find it.

That would require him to actually make something in the kitchen, which, as time showed, he never would.

She wiped her hands on her apron for good measure, keeping the facade of cooking up, and smiled at him. "Tell your mother her assistance in the kitchen would be much appreciated."

Sherrinford approached her slowly, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, placing a kiss on her neck; Chelsea willed herself not to flinch away from the gesture. "Sher, I've got to finish cooking," she whined playfully, even though she was feeling anything but playful.

"Fine," he sighed in annoyance, stepping back from her and raising his hands in the air defensively, "just try not to be too much longer. I'm going_ insane_ having to listen to them out there."

Chelsea laughed at his complaining. "Sherrinford Holmes, they are your family. I am sure they're not that bad."

Sherrinford leaned over hors-d'oeuvre platter on the marble counter, aiming to pick through it, but Chelsea acted quickly and swatted his hands away with the hand towel that was previously draped over her shoulder. "Sherrinford!" she cried in mock exasperation. "Go back out to your family."

He pouted like a child. "I don't want to."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Why not? They are lovely people."

"Anthea, you barely know them," Sherrinford retorted, leaning against the counter, his back to the food he wasn't allowed to touch before it was officially served. "They are making my life miserable. That's why I am hiding out in here."

"You are a grown man," Chelsea reminded him, shooting a pointed look in his direction. "What are they doing to make your life so miserable, today of all days?"

"_Mummy_ will not stop raving about you, for one," Sherrinford began, sighing again, this time more dramatically. Dramatic sighing definitely ran in the family.

"And how is that a bad thing?" Chelsea cut in.

"It's gone on for long enough," he explained casually. "_Father_ is sitting on the sofa silently, staring around like he hasn't got a clue in the world… _Sherlock_ won't stop drumming his fingers on every surface in sight and if he doesn't stop soon, I will most definitely amputate them from his hand once and for all."

"That's a lovely thing to say about your baby brother, Sherrinford."

Sherrinford rolled his eyes. "And _Mycroft_ is grumpy as always."

Chelsea put down the mixing bowl she was holding and wrapped her arms around him. "As awful as that sounds, I really could use your mother's help in the kitchen, so could you please go get her for me?"

Sherrinford pecked her on the forehead before leaving the kitchen.

Moments later, Mrs. Holmes, in her holiday finest, entered the kitchen. "Anthea, you're doing a marvelous job, dear!"

Chelsea smiled and thanked her for her compliment. "Sherrinford said you'd like to help me?"

Mrs. Holmes nodded. "I wanted to show you how to make one of Sherrinford's favorite dishes," she said, taking Chelsea's arm and leading her into the walk-in pantry. She shut the door behind her. "Sorry I had to do this Chelsea," Mrs. Holmes whispered conspiratorially.

"It's not a problem," Chelsea said. "How can I help you?" she asked, knowing the Holmes matriarch was addressing her as Mycroft's agent and personal assistant, not as Sherrinford's fake girlfriend. She was the one to ask Mycroft to spy on Sherrinford, after all.

"Did you get the note tucked into the tray of biscuits I brought?"

Chelsea grinned and nodded. "I hid it away as well," she replied, checking her watch. "I'm supposed to meet him in a few minutes."

"Have you found anything?"

"I cannot report anything specific, official secrets and all," Chelsea started, "but I can confirm that I have found evidence of illicit activity carried out by your son. I have made Mycroft aware of the situation and the evidence collected thus far."

Mrs. Holmes smiled and patted her arm. "You really are a keeper, Chelsea," the older woman praised. "It's too bad you have to be with the black sheep of the family."

Chelsea laughed at her insinuation. "It won't be for too much longer, I can assure you," she replied. "I hope to have this mission completed before this time next year."

"Good," Mrs. Holmes said approvingly. "I will make sure that my eldest son gives you a proper raise and promotion. You were always more than just his personal assistant, you know."

As the two women exited the pantry, a few ingredients in hand to disguise their reason for going into the pantry in the first place, Chelsea nodded her head, smiling to herself. "I know."

* * *

><p>"I was beginning to think you were ignoring my request, Chelsea," Mycroft drawled, rocking on his feet forwards and backwards as Chelsea snuck out of the house to meet him behind the garage.<p>

Chelsea wrapped her coat tighter around her body, regretting wearing a dress. "What was so pressing that you wanted to meet me outside for? We could get caught."

Mycroft chuckled and looked around them. "By whom?"

He had a point; everyone was in the house and the land around them was lifeless and silent. She laughed lightly. "Point taken."

"I was pleased to receive your invitation," Mycroft admitted, feeling his heart rate begin to increase, knowing the reason why he asked her to meet him outside today, instead of waiting until their next mission meeting. "The party allows me the opportunity to give you something I was going to give you in a few weeks at our next meeting."

Chelsea reached inside her coat pocket, her hand closing around the small box inside. "I, too, have something to give you." She had grabbed the box just in case Mycroft intended to give her a gift.

"Let me," Mycroft said, reaching into his suit jacket, pulling out a delicate gold band. Chelsea's eyes widened he took her right hand and placed the ring upon her palm, closing her fingers tenderly over it.

"Mycroft," Chelsea breathed, "what is this?"

Mycroft swallowed and averted his eyes, knowing what she probably thought it was. "A few days prior I received a visit from your father and he told me he was worried about you being on another mission."

She didn't understand where this was going. "I thought he didn't know about the mission."

"Yes, well, when you didn't show up for your mother's birthday, he talked his way into my private office to tell me _everything_ he thought about my allowing you on a mission," Mycroft groaned, thinking back on the uncomfortable and annoying experience.

Chelsea rolled the ring between her fingers; it felt warm against her skin, the ring having been heated by Mycroft's body heat.

Mycroft watched her play with the ring, mesmerized, and continued explaining. "Your father thought it best that I find some way to track your person."

"Oh, yes," Chelsea said, finally understanding, "the ring's interior contains the same kind of technology found in satellite navigation systems. The ring relays my coordinates to a satellite, which, I assume, either you or my father have access to at any time."

Mycroft nodded, impressed at her expeditious conclusion. He reached out, closing her fingers over the ring once more, his hand lingering on hers. "Precisely."

Chelsea slipped the ring onto her right hand ring finger. "If Sherrinford asks about it, I'll tell him it was my grandmother's," she decided, admiring the way the ring looked on her. She had to admit she loved it. "You know, if anyone else saw this, they would think you were proposing to me," she smirked teasingly, missing all the times she used to do that when she worked for him.

Mycroft smirked down at her in return. "All in good time, my dear Elsie," he drawled, winking at her.

Chelsea's smirk faltered and her heart beat rapidly, before she calmed herself once more by reminding herself that he was just bantering with her. Breaking eye contact with him, she reached into her coat and pulled out the small velvet box, handing it over.

Mycroft turned the box over in his hands. "I genuinely hope that you do not intend on tracking me, as well?"

Feeling her cheeks redden, Chelsea rolled her eyes in an attempt to hide her emotions. "Just open it, _sir_."

Looking at her once more, Mycroft slowly opened the box, revealing a pair of silver cufflinks. "Umbrella cufflinks," Mycroft chuckled, closing the box and hiding it away inside his jacket. "They are perfect."

Chelsea grinned, delighted that Mycroft liked her gift. She thought, perhaps, that she was overstepping some boundary with her gift, but she was glad she took the leap.

Before she realized what was happening, Mycroft stepped closer to her, enveloping her in a warm embrace. "Thank you for the present, Elsie," Mycroft whispered with a low voice in her ear, making her skin raise with chills.

"Of course," Chelsea stuttered, her head resting against his chest, not wanting to let go. Unfortunately, Mycroft pulled back slightly, but his hands remained around her body loosely.

In a moment of boldness, she looked up into his eyes. "I wish this mission was over already," she told him, her voice barely above a whisper. "I miss working. I miss driving to work in the mornings and getting to make ridiculous small talk with Peter." She took a deep breath. "I miss you."

It was like she had read his mind. Deciding 'to hell with' propriety, Mycroft placed his hands on either side of her face, tenderly caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. Chelsea unconsciously pressed her body against his, melting him with her wide, chocolate eyes. His gaze lowered to admire her seductive plump lips, and before he could control himself, he pressed his lips against hers in a passionate kiss, fueled by longing and devotion.

Chelsea clutched his jacket lapels needfully, deepening the embrace. She felt his tongue run across her bottom lip, begging for an entrance, which she most definitely granted.

As his hands began lowering to the arch of her back, they heard one of the house doors open, arguing voices interrupting their kiss and making them freeze mid-action, their faces touching, but lips no longer connected as they listened.

"It is_ not _my fault that you raised a _simpleton!_" Sherlock's exasperated shout drifted through the gardens, followed by a door slamming.

"We're hidden behind here, right?" Chelsea whispered under her breath.

Mycroft tightened his arms around her, leaning closer to her to whisper back in her ear, his breath hot against her skin, making her crave his touch and kiss once more. "Yes, he went back inside," he replied.

"How do you know?"

"If he was outside," Mycroft explained, "we would still hear him complaining. He talks to himself when he's alone."

"That's…" she broke off, trying not to laugh at his odd baby brother, "interesting?"

Mycroft chuckled lightly and rested his cheek atop her head, pulling her head against his chest. "How is your mission coming along? I want you back at work some time this year."

Chelsea smiled, even though she knew he wouldn't be able to see it. "I'm closer to getting much more evidence," she lied. She should have felt upset at the fact that she had to lie to cover up the fact that her mission was slowly falling apart and her target was treating her in a less than ideal manner, but she was still in unbelieving ecstasy from the kiss.

Mycroft took his head off hers and lifted her chin towards him with one of his hands. "I am so proud of you for following through with the mission," he said tenderly, gazing into her eyes. "But please, do be careful."

She nodded, mesmerized by the sound of his voice. "Of course, Mycroft," she breathed, closing the distance between her lips and his. "I would do anything you asked me to do," she whispered, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her body to his in another passionate kiss.

It truly was Christmas.


	13. With Villains Six Feet Underground

**A/N: Sorry it's taken so long! I've been super busy with things, so I haven't had the time to write a new chapter, but I finally found the time! I'm so happy everyone likes the previous chapter! Unfortunately, I'm about to throw a curveball no one will like, I'm afraid. Don't hate me too much for it!**

**Guest who was supposed to be doing math: To be completely honest, I squealed when I read your review! I loved it so much and it made me laugh because it reminded me of myself when I was in school :)**

**Cornishrexmomma: I don't think he will find out for quite some time because I want to raise the stakes! Thank you!**

**Alibird1: Thank you so much! It got me right in the fangirl as well, and I'm the one writing it :)**

**Other Guest: Yeah, Sherrinford is still a shit, and unfortunately, he's only going to get worse. I can tell you that the mission won't be over too soon, but it will definitely be over in chapter twenty-three, just so you can count down if you would like.**

**icohbh: Sorry for leaving you hanging! I don't mean to. I tend to end chapters right when my imagination dies out for the day, so it's definitely not on purpose. And you did! Thank you for the encouragement, it means so much to me!**

* * *

><p>Two hours later found the party gathered around the Christmas tree, next to the roaring fire in the fireplace, as they exchanged Christmas gifts.<p>

Mrs. Holmes received a beautiful silver necklace, engraved with the names of her sons; Mycroft insisted he and his brothers picked it out for her, but everyone in the room knew Mycroft had been the sole benefactor.

Mr. Holmes received a mahogany croquet set, which Sherlock insisted he had nothing to do with, since, according to him, "it was a game intended to give a much needed break for the cushioned chairs government men desperately in need of a diet, much like Mycroft."

Mycroft wasn't too pleased at that remark, but he nonetheless remained silent, pretending to be gracious at the gift of a knit scarf. Chelsea told Mrs. Holmes that she thought she was a lovely knitter, and Mrs. Holmes replied, "Oh, no darling, I would never spend my time doing something so mundane… No, Mrs. Smith from down the street gifted that to me last year and I thought Mycroft might like it. The color really brings out his eyes."

Chelsea tried not to laugh at the disturbed expression on Mycroft's face as he placed the leafy-green scarf beside him.

Sherlock, as per usual, was less than excited by his gift. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he scowled, holding up the gaudy pillow. "What even is this?"

"Well, brother mine, I would have to say that is a pillow," Mycroft drawled, barely containing the amusement he felt at his youngest brother's displeased reaction.

"I think this would be more suitable for you, Mycroft," Sherlock snarled, tossing the pillow across the room, despite his mother's protests. "Anyone could tell you like cushiony things from looking at the less-than-fit state of yourself."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Holmes interrupted sharply, "that is quite enough." Sherlock grew sulky at being reprimanded by his mother. Mrs. Holmes sighed and turned to Sherrinford. "Your turn darling."

Sherrinford shot Chelsea a pleading look. "Please tell me you picked my gift instead of them."

Ignoring every part of her that told her not to, Chelsea pecked him on the cheek affectionately; Mycroft told her to continue her mission as if nothing had changed. The sooner the mission ended, the sooner they could continue whatever it was they were doing. "I picked out your gift, don't worry."

She placed the small gift-wrapped box into his lap. Sherrinford smiled at her before tearing at the paper, revealing a box with a fancy pen inside. Mrs. Holmes craned her neck. "Well hold it up, Sherrinford."

Sherrinford grinned as he showed off the pen. "I thought, since you're always so busy writing up your work in your study, that you might benefit from a fancy pen!" Chelsea explained, loving that he liked the pen.

"Thank you, Anthea," Sherrinford pecked her on the cheek briefly, not wanting to show too much affection in front of his brothers.

Even though he hated seeing her in the arms of his brother, Mycroft had to admit he was impressed with his asset. As Sherrinford showed everyone the pen, Mycroft realized that it was the latest model of a Secret Intelligence Service pen that recorded all pen strokes. At a later date, Mycroft would be able to reclaim the pen and sync it up to his laptop to figure out what was being written with it.

He decided at that moment he had to promote Chelsea to a higher position in the government upon her return, under his direction, of course.

Mycroft was doubly-impressed with her assessment of whether or not Sherlock would be able to pick up on what the pen truly was. If Sherlock had been clean and sober, Mycroft knew that he would have deduced Chelsea's true identity immediately, but fortunately for the mission, Sherlock was currently trying out the latest new drugs to hit the market, and was not in the clearest state of mind.

Chelsea suspected the drugs had something to do with Sherrinford, which she told Mycroft prior to them going back into the house. He told her to look into it more and find evidence linking the drugs to Sherrinford.

"Thank God that's over, can we go now?" Sherlock moaned, clutching his head in his hands, a look of pure boredom on his sharp features.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Anthea has not yet received a present," he commented, trying not to show too much attention. "Sherrinford, have you forgotten?"

Sherrinford sneered at his eldest brother. "Obviously not," he growled, before composing himself and sliding off the couch to kneel on the floor before Chelsea. Chelsea's eyes widened and she felt her heart stop beating from the horror of what she thought Sherrinford was about to do.

Sherrinford took her hand into his, confirming her fears. "Anthea, I know we haven't known each other for that long of a time, but I can't imagine not knowing you," he said earnestly. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Oh, you're not _really_ doing this, are you?" Sherlock complained in astonishment.

"Hush, you," Mrs. Holmes narrowed her eyes at Sherlock, "or I will become positively furious."

"Go on," Chelsea urged Sherrinford, although she wished she hadn't.

Sherrinford nodded, trying not to get angry with his brother while he was proposing to his girlfriend. "I know we've been through some hard times, but I don't want to be without you. I need you to say yes, Anthea," he pleaded. "Marry me, Anthea."

Chelsea hesitated for a brief second and looked around the room, catching Mycroft's gaze in order to get direction from him. He was her mission handler, after all. Mycroft's expression was unreadable, but he nodded in her direction nonetheless.

Chelsea looked back down at Sherrinford and mustered all her strength to smile at him. "Yes," she whispered, "of course I will marry you!" she exclaimed, tears welling up in her eyes.

Sherrinford laughed with happiness and stood up to kiss her. "You're crying!"

Chelsea twisted her lips into a watery smile, hoping it didn't come across as the grimace she felt like displaying. "Tears of happiness, I assure you," she lied, fully knowing they were tears of sadness. Sherrinford's kiss meant that she tasted him on her lips instead of Mycroft.

As Mr. Holmes stood up to clap Sherrinford on the back in congratulations, Chelsea's eyes searched the room for Mycroft, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Mycroft had left the house the moment he told her to accept his brother's proposal.

Chelsea was left feeling so alone and helpless once more, but this time she could add confusion to the mixture after Mycroft kissed her outside before the proposal.

Alone. Helpless. Confused.


	14. When Right Follows Left Jack

**A/N:** I hope everyone is having a lovely Monday/ whatever day it is where you are! I will try to update the story at least once a week from now on, since I just got a new job and work a lot more hours than I did before. It's a good thing, of course, but it means I have less time to research and write. I will slowly be getting more in depth regarding Sherrinford's illicit activities in order to further the plot along to get to the end of the mission by the promised chapter (twenty-three I think?). Anyways, I just wanted to finally say that I know NOTHING about drugs or drug-related things (I'm not a social person what-so-ever and I also do not condone it at all), so everything about it that I write about is straight from Google, Wikipedia, etc. so it may not be right. Personally, I couldn't really care less about the accuracy of the information in the story about drugs, but I will make it as realistic as Wikipedia allows lol.

icohbh: I'm glad it brightened your day! Your reviews brighten mine immensely!

cornishrexmomma: I keep trying to up the ante, so I'm glad you thought I did last chapter. I haven't written anything in many years, so I'm trying to get back into the swing of it.

applejacks0808: Thank you so much! I have read a few Mycroft/Anthea stories before, and I liked all of the ones I've read a lot (some are absolutely fantastic), but I haven't seen anything like this before either. I've seen ones where she's an agent, but they don't go into her backstory and they take the name Anthea at face-value. I'm a big fan of finding little details in shows, for instance little tiny things that characters (usually minor ones) say offhand that no one pays attention to, and making a plot around them. From the Empty Hearse scene with Anthea, Mycroft, and Sherlock, I thought that there had to be a long backstory involving the three because even Sherlock seems comfortable around her, and she around him. Anthea is comfortable around spying and money (she works for Mycroft after all) so I decided she should come from money as well. And then of course, there's the quick mention of "the other one" by Mycroft after the Magnussen ordeal, and after watching that episode for the umpteenth time, I decided I had to write about the other Holmes brother, Sherrinford (had to Google that one though). I'll be working more things like that into the story as it goes on, especially the reason why I chose Sherrinford to be involved with illicit drug activities.

belladu57: Thank you! I'm glad you like it!

* * *

><p><strong>When Right Follows Left Jack<strong>

_Battersea Power Station. 10 am. Bring decryption model M25J1. -A._

Chelsea slid the Blackberry into her purse and crossed the room to take one last glance in the mirror. She looked exactly opposite what the bridal magazines said newly-engaged women should look like. Her skin was paler than her normal light-olive complexion and her eyes were sunken and purpling from lack of sleep the night before.

She supposed it was the best she could look, considering the situation, so she shrugged on her trench coat and took her purse as she left Sherrinford's house.

Chelsea smirked at her reflection in the car's rearview mirror as she gripped the leather wheel of Sherrinford's Bentley Continental GT, a car he explicitly told her never to drive without him. Luckily for her, she knew how to reset mileage on care, so it would be like she had never drove it in the first place.

At precisely ten in the morning, she parked the car and leaned against it, Blackberry in hand, as she waited for Mycroft to step out of his vehicle to greet her like a gentleman.

Peter pulled the car up alongside hers and instead of Mycroft exiting the car, he simply rolled down the window to greet her. "I take it you ave news for me, Miss Daniels?"

Chelsea rolled her eyes in exasperation at his refusal for even the simplest of legwork. It really wasn't too much to ask of him to actually get out of the car. "If I had news, I wouldn't be asking for the decryption device, now would I?" she retorted, slipping into Mycroft's car.

Mycroft lifted his eyebrows in response and knocked on the partition separating him from the driver. Peter rolled down the partition and turned around to see what his boss wanted.

"I would greatly appreciate it if you would allow Miss Daniels and me a few moments of privacy," Mycroft drawled in a bored monotone. "Please take the keys to her car, park it in an area close to an entrance to the Power Station, and be on the lookout until I tell you to return."

"Really, sir, is that necessary?" Chelsea grumbled reluctantly passing the keys to Peter; she knew he was a professional driver, but she was still nervous about letting anyone but herself drive the Bentley. It was, after all, Sherrinford's prized possession, and just anyone couldn't drive it.

Peter shut the car off and exited, walking over to the other car, getting in, and driving to the opposite side of the parking lot. Mycroft pressed a button, locking the car from the inside and darkening the windows so that no one could see into the car.

He positioned his body so that he was facing Chelsea. She raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. She knew what he was doing, even if he didn't exactly know himself.

"As much as I enjoy seeing my favorite personal assistant," he began, but was interrupted.

"I'm not your personal assistant anymore," Chelsea reminded him.

He sighed and began again. "As much as I enjoy seeing my favorite asset-"

"Thank you."

"-I do have an important meeting to attend in forty-five minutes in Whitehall."

Chelsea perked up instantly, knowing he was going to a meeting for the Ministry of Defense. "Do say 'hello' to father for me."

Mycroft smiled slightly, lines crinkling around his eyes in a very becoming manner. "Of course," he nodded. "Now, why is it you have called me here, and why did I have to bring you this?" he asked, producing the decryption device she had requested.

Swiftly pocketing the device inside of her trench coat, Chelsea shot Mycroft a look. "I need to decrypt something, obviously." It was Mycroft's turn to shoot her a look, to which Chelsea added, "_Sir_."

"I would never have come to that conclusion. You're forethought and intelligence never cease to astonish me," Mycroft quipped sarcastically, rolling his eyes in a most undignified fashion.

Chelsea wished, just for a moment, that the members of Parliament and the rest of the government could see this side of Mycroft, the side only she saw.

Grinning at his wry response, Chelsea held her left hand in front of her under a beam of sunlight that filtered through the heavily-darkened window. "It's rather garish, don't you agree?" she remarked, changing the subject, not wanting to tell her boss what she was going to do with the device. It would only worry him, and she could tell he was worked up about the meeting he was about to attend.

Mycroft's gaze flickered between her face and the prodigious engagement ring on her slender finger. "I must say, it does not exactly suit you."

Chelsea wrinkled her nose as she looked at the ring. "No, it really doesn't," she agreed. "This type of ring looks beautiful on some women, but I am most definitely _not_ one of them. I don't know _what_ gave him the impression that I would like such an extravagant ring."

Mycroft slid across the middle seat to position himself directly next to her. He took her left hand into his and examined the ring close to his eyes. "Yes, this is a truly remarkable example pf a Marquise-shaped diamond," he informed her matter-of-factly. "Expertly crafted to elongate the finger, the Marquise-shaped diamond is designed to appear larger than a diamond of another shape with the same carat weight."

"Since when were you such an expert on engagement rings, sir?"

Mycroft shifted slightly, crossing one leg over the other, as he leaned back into the seat, his shoulders brushing against hers. "Since when did you start evading my questions?" he retorted. "For what exactly do you need the decryption device?"

Chelsea opened her mouth, but Mycroft held up a hand to stop her from interrupting him once more. "And please spare me another story; I am going to be late enough as it is."

To anyone else, Mycroft Holmes would appear to be annoyed, but Chelsea saw the playful glint in his eyes that told her he couldn't care less about being late to the meeting if it meant that they could enjoy a few more minutes together.

"Sherrinford will be out of the country for the next couple of days for a stag party," she finally relented, "so I thought I would take the opportunity to conduct a more comprehensive search of his study, including his computer. Unfortunately, it was password-protected when I tried to access it last night."

Mycroft exhaled, thinking something over in his mind. "Do I need to tell you to be careful once more?" he finally asked slowly.

Chelsea laughed lightly and rested her left on his leg absentmindedly. Mycroft was taken aback by the gesture and turned towards her, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

"Sorry," Chelsea muttered, removing her hand from his thigh and wondering where that had come from.

When had she become so forward with her affections toward her boss? True, she and Mycroft _had_ shared an intimate moment at the Christmas party, but she hadn't heard from him once since then.

This was all so confusing.

Before she could remove her hand, Mycroft seized it with his own, holding it in his. Her heart beat became erratic and she was paralyzed by his arresting gaze. "Do not apologize, Elsie," he said, barely above a whisper.

Chelsea couldn't stop her eyes from lowering to his lips and raising back up to his eyes. "It's a shame I am an engaged woman," she murmured half-heartedly, feeling as if she was being magnetically drawn towards him.

"The marriage will never be valid," Mycroft swore raggedly as he raised his free hand to her face cupping her cheek with it and caressing her soft skin with his warm fingers.

Chelsea sighed into the embrace and closed her eyes. "The mission will be over long before it ever comes to that," she whispered, stuttering slightly when he slid his free hand down the side of her waist, inhaling sharply when he drew circles into her hip.

"Good, I have other plans for you."

"Plans?"

The sound of her erratic breathing echoed through Mycroft's brain, burning through every ounce of self-control that he deluded himself into believing he had prior to agreeing to meet her this morning. Keeping his gaze on her deep brown eyes that were open once more, he brushed his lips gently across hers for a fleeting moment.

"Precisely that, Miss Daniels," Mycroft murmured against her lips, "plans."

A shiver ran down Chelsea's spine as she pushed herself closer to Mycroft's body, her grasp fastening around his suit lapels to balance herself. His tongue slipped between her pliant, parted lips and his arms wrapped around her back, palms pressing flatly against her, drawing her closer to his body as he uncrossed his legs.

"What s-sort of plans, sir?" Chelsea stuttered, her breathing catching in her throat as Mycroft lowered his lips to her jawbone. She sucked in a sharp breath when he began to trail his lips down her neck, stopping to nip at her collarbone.

"Plans that require personal, hands-on attention," he teased huskily, capturing her mouth once more with a hungry urgency. "Plans that don't involve you around any man but me."

In one swift, fluid motion, Chelsea straddled Mycroft's hips, pressing her chest brazenly against his, fully aware of the tantalizing effect her low-cut neckline would have on him and his wandering eyes.

Mycroft took advantage of the way her skirt bunched around her waist as he ran his hands up her thighs languidly, making her whimper in anticipation.

"What sort of personal, hands-on attention could you be referring to, sir?" she gasped raggedly as he pressed his palm against the growing warmth between her thighs.

One glance at his face told her all she needed to know- she had never seen his blue eyes darken into a tumultuous storm of desire as much as she did then.

"You are an intelligent woman, Miss Daniels," he stated gruffly, squeezing her thigh between his fingers. "I am confident in your capacity to deduce the meaning."

Chelsea moved against his hips in a gentle rocking motion, satisfied at the primal growl she heard rise in the back of his throat. Leaning forward against him, pressing her chest flush against his, she whispered in his ear. "I can deduce all sorts of things about _you,_ Mycroft Holmes."

His hard fingers teased the edges of the lacy silk fabric and she arched toward his exploring fingers; he fought desperately to regain control of his breathing, determined not to let his desire show. "For instance?" he finally managed to reply.

Instead of telling him, Chelsea lifted her hips from his and looked pointedly down at his lap, her hand stroking the strained fabric of his wrinkled trousers as though she knew how the sensation of fabric on hot skin would drive him wild. "You're an intelligent man, Mister Holmes," she teased, lowering her hips back to his, slowly and provocatively. "I am confident in your capacity to deduce the meaning."

It was as if something inside of Mycroft snapped. In an instant, his arms were wrapped around her body, pulling her hard against him as he savagely reclaimed her mouth. She buried her fingers in his hair to make sure he wouldn't stop kissing her before she was done kissing him. Her body moved against him as frantically as his moved against hers.

Just as Chelsea began to walk her fingers down his chest, with the intention of accessing his arouse flesh begging for attention beneath her hips, Mycroft felt a vibrating sensation over his heart.

"Mycroft," Chelsea groaned, watching him retrieve his mobile from the breast pocket of the suit. "Don't answer it."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the caller identification. "I am afraid I have to take the call," he apologized, helping her slide off his lap. "Could you call Peter and have him bring your car around? I must go to the meeting, despite how eager I am to finish what we have started."

"Can't you just ignore it, just this once?" she whined, adjusting her clothing with a large pout on her lips at the interruption.

"I wish," he replied, kissing her lips briefly before answering the phone.

Chelsea exited the car and called Peter to being the car around so she could go back to Sherrinford's house to do more research.

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><p>Almost an hour later, Chelsea stood bent over Sherrinford's desk as she poured through his mobile records. The decryption device hummed quietly as it was plugged into the computer's port.<p>

The calls were normal for the most part, with the majority of them going out to her, his family, or his friends. While she hadn't met any of his friends yet, she figured that since there were a lot of calls going out to people names Christina, Lucy, Miss Emma, Percy, and Tina, they must have had something to do with the party. Perhaps he was planning it with the bridesmaids?

Most likely not, the girls were probably women he was seeing behind her back, but it was not like she actually cared too much about that. She was being unfaithful to him anyways.

No, the names were normal, all except one, that was. _Snow Bird_. She pulled out her Blackberry and took a picture of the call log of women's names, making sure _Snow Bird_ was in focus.

While she had a hunch that _Snow Bird_ was a code name for a type of drugs, she figured Mycroft would know better than her.


	15. No One Knows 'Cause No One's Found

**A/N: **So here's the next chapter a lot earlier than I planned on writing it, but I found some free time today! This chapter's going to be a bit short and a bit lacking in Mycroft/Anthea, so apologies for that. It's not a filler chapter... it's just more of a slightly-plot about Sherrinford chapter. Trust me, I can't wait until I'm done writing about him, but there's still a ways to go on that one. Luckily, this is the last sort of "boring" chapter before shit hits the fan (for lack of a better phrase). Sooo I'm pretty excited for future chapters. Just not this one :P

But, I can say there is some pretty cool news at the end of this chapter that I was going to save as a surprise for a much later chapter, but I just could not help myself.

Responses to reviews will be at the end of chapters now :)

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><p><strong>No One Knows 'Cause No One's Found<strong>

_Sherrinford, it is half-past. Where are you? -A._

Chelsea dropped the phone onto the table, causing the wedding planner across from her jump from the sudden noise. "Sorry," Chelsea muttered half-heartedly in the older woman's direction, "he must be caught up with work."

The wedding planner nodded curtly and averted her eyes from her stressed-out client, instead focusing on the contents of her meticulously-planned binder of wedding information. Lisa David was one of London's finest wedding planners, and she would be damned if she was called anything but tactful. "That's quite alright," she waved off the apology, "it can be just us girls for the moment."

Lisa flipped to the back of the binder to pull out a sample invitation. "How would you like your name to appear on the invitation? I was thinking your whole name would look elegant."

Tapping her pointer-finger against her lips to make it look like she was thinking about the question, Chelsea's mind was instead replaying the last moments she shared with her boss before his mobile interrupted them so rudely. "I was thinking Sherrinford's name should go first," she said, "followed by mine. I'd like to keep it as simple, yet elegant, as possible."

Lisa clicked her pen and poised it over the sample invitation to show her client what it would look like. She carefully wrote Sherrinford's entire name, but paused right after. "Sorry, could you spell your name, just so I have it completely right?"

"A-n-t-h-e-a," Chelsea spelled slowly. "Hamilton."

"Yes, of course," Lisa said, writing the name directly under Sherrinford's. "Might I suggest another meeting later this week? I have to meet with other clients in an hour across London, I'm afraid."

Chelsea sighed, embarrassed that her fiancé had the audacity to miss yet another meeting with the wedding planner. "Yes, would Friday be alright? I'll make sure he's available."

"Friday works for me."

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><p><em>Had to go to important meeting. Won't be home until morning. -S<em>

_Next wedding appointment is on Friday. You can make it up to me then. -A_

_Can't promise I won't be busy, but I'll see what I can do. -S_

Chelsea rolled her eyes at his rude response. For someone who's supposedly in love with her, Sherrinford sure had a poor way of showing it. Oftentimes she wondered what about her attracted Sherrinford, but she chalked it up to his desire to embarrass his prestigious family by marrying a woman with no name and no family.

Mycroft had personally fabricated government records of Anthea Hamilton's past. Anthea Hamilton was born to Petra and George Thomas, and her birth name was Anthea Petra Thomas. When she was four years old, her parents, returning from a party, crashed their car into a tree and died in the fiery vehicle. Mycroft contacted one of his most trusted men in the defense department, Chelsea's father, to fabricate evidence of the Thomas' death. Chelsea's father was all too pleased to be secretly helping his daughter, even if he was still annoyed that she was once again going into the field.

Anthea Thomas was adopted by Elaine and Marcus Hamilton, thus changing her name from Thomas to Hamilton. Mycroft used two of his retired agents, the ones he trusted most out of all the other ones, save Chelsea, of course, to be sleepers just in case Sherrinford asked to meet her adoptive parents. Chelsea, not wanting to deal with any more agents, made sure to mention them rarely to ensure Sherrinford wouldn't be tempted to find out about them.

While Anthea Hamilton's life was insignificant and shadowy, Chelsea Daniels's life was anything but. Her father was very high up in the Ministry of Defense, and as a result, reported directly to Mycroft Holmes himself. Whenever Mycroft had a meeting with the defense department, he was almost always meeting with William Daniels.

Chelsea's mother, Cynthia Daniels, was almost the exact opposite of her jovial father. Cynthia Daniels, like William Daniels, was high up in the government, but she wasn't a public figure like her husband. No, Cynthia Daniels was the chief liaison between MI-5 and MI-6. Just as Mycroft was the person to whom all major governmental people went to for decision-making, Cynthia Daniels was the person through whom all intelligence between the two services went.

If MI-5 had an issue, Cynthia knew about it. If one of MI-6's agents stepped out of line, Cynthia was the first to reign the agent back in. She was the silent storm powering the security services, and yet, she still reported to Mycroft Holmes for the big decisions.

Chelsea considered messaging Mycroft, but she knew he was most likely enjoying an expensive scotch in one of his large, leather armchairs in his home office; she decided to give him a few minutes to himself before she began taunting him to relieve her sheer boredom.

At one time, Chelsea taunted him over the number of offices Mycroft Holmes had. He had one in the Diogenes Club, another one in Whitehall which she suspected was under the Ministry of Defense, but she could never be sure whenever she was there, a third one in 10 Downing Street, once again, located underground, and finally, the one in his own house.

He preferred the latter office, what with its large fireplace, expensive mahogany table, large leather chairs, medieval decorations, and collection of expensive spirits.

Glancing at the clock one last time over her shoulder, she rolled over in bed to grab her Blackberry off the bedside table.

_Tomorrow, the same restaurant as last time. 4 pm. -A._

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><p><strong>AN:** So here's the surprise: There will be a sequel to this story. It will _not_ focus or involve Sherrinford. It will begin to follow the events of the TV series (beyond the little bit I cover later on in this one), but will be more focused on Mycroft/Anthea behind-the-scenes. There will be a major surprise with it that I don't think anyone will be expecting (but if you are, then, damn, you're good). **But the surprise:** I will be basing it off a song that I've already picked out (much like I did with this story) and it's pretty badass if I do say so myself. Since I don't want someone to steal it from me, if you want to know, either leave a review or message me and I will tell you in a message. All I ask is that you don't tell everyone the name and you don't write a Mycroft/Anthea story with the name or idea before I begin writing mine.

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><p><strong>Guest #1:<strong> Thank you! I'm happy risked reading it at work. I write it at work usually lol

**Cornishrexmomma:** Thanks! That's part of why it took so long wo write, I had to get the wording just right. My first attempt was...interesting, to say the least. Laughable is probably a better description.

**Guest #2: **I feel the same way about it being out!


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